Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Chapter 126

Chapter 126

"Two blocks," Ser whispers, and then yanks me by the wrist so fast my shoulder cracks.

"Closet. Now," she hisses, and before I can blink, she's dragging me backwards and slamming us into a fucking broom closet as if we're in a badly written porn

scene.

The smell of lemon-scented bleach and industrial-grade desperation punches me in the face. It's dark. Claustrophobic. A mop tips over and smacks the side and onto Ser's leg..

I suck in a breath as she curses. "Fuck-watch it!" I'm losing my breath. I can't think of anything worse right now than Enoch dragging me back to the palace with his heir inside of me. I know he's not gang to take this well.

He hates me.

He's gonna hate the baby. Hell, I wouldn't be too shocked if he tells me to abort the baby.

"You said two blocks away," I rasp, heart jackhammering against my ribs. "You said-"

"He blew every red light. Military escort. I didn't expect him to fucking teleport."

I blink against the stinging sweat dripping into my contacts. The dark lenses itch like hell. My fake-blonde wig is glued to my scalp, soaked and slipping. My ID badge is still clipped crooked to my blazer-one nervous tug away from falling off.

"If he finds me-if he sees me-Ser... he'll know."

Ser doesn't blink. She doesn't breathe. She simply opens her bag and pulls out a spare guest pass like she's been waiting for this moment. Like she's been expecting this shitshow from the second I walked into the office. Maybe she did.

She holds it out to me. "Then don't let him see you."

I stare at it. New name. New department. New identity.

It's laminated, creased at the corners, still warm from her body heat. She shoves

it into my hand like it's a fucking life raft. "Your name is Teresa Calla. You're a translator intern from Geneva. Smile nice and don't talk to anyone unless they talk to you first."

The plastic digs into my fingers. I stare at the stupid mugshot on it-blurry brunette chick with a crooked smile. Definitely

not me.

"Service elevator. Take it all the way down to the archives. Wait there. Don't breathe. Don't blink. Don't fucking exist."

My fingers are shaking as I clip the badge on. "How long do I have?"

She tilts her head. "Until the elevator dings. You know how tall this building is?"

I do.

Too fucking tall.

The muffled ding outside the closet hits like a warning bell. Then the shift-

murmurs, gasps, that pin-drop silence that only happens when royalty steps into

a room full of mortals who just pissed themselves.

He's here.

And my knees nearly give out.

Ser's already cracking the door open, peeking through like a goddamn spy. "Now. Go. Don't talk. Don't think. Don't get

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Chapter 126

caught."

I slip out behind her, keeping low. My heels are too loud. I should've worn flats. But I thought I'd be writing news briefs today, not playing hide-and-seek with the King of Lycans.

My breath is shallow, barely there. Every step down that hallway feels like a countdown to death.

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The hallway's tight. Cream-colored walls. Recessed lights. No windows. No escape routes. Just the hum of the building's AC and the metallic groan of a floor that's holding its breath. The service elevator is where Ser said it would be. Metal doors, dented buttons. I jam my thumb on the call button so hard it turns white.

Shit, shit, shit.

Come on.

Come on.

Ding.

The doors open like they know they're part of a thriller. I step in, punch the button for -2. As the doors close, I catch a glimpse through the sliver-someone tall stepping off the executive elevator at the far end of the floor. Forest green eyes would be easy to spot even from here.

I step in.

The doors shut.

And I finally breathe.

My legs feel like noodles. Cold sweat slides down my spine. My hand covers my belly out of instinct more than sense.

God, I hope he doesn't hear it.

***

The basement archives are... fucking terrifying.

Cold, concrete floors and low-hanging fluorescent lights make the space feel like a morgue for forgotten corporate bullshit. Rows of metal shelves stretch forever, filled with file boxes, rolled-up blueprints, tech prototypes wrapped in plastic, and a couple of suspicious tarps I'm not touching.

It's dead quiet except for the hum of machines. Somewhere above, I hear the elevator groan up again.

I step carefully, wincing at the echo of my heels. Every click is a gunshot in this tomb of records.

"Just a little longer," I whisper under my breath, my palm pressed over the small swell beneath my shirt. The tiniest bump. Barely a curve. But real. Alive. Inside me is a piece of him.

Of course the irony isn't lost on me. Hiding from the father of my unborn child in the underground lair of his enemy's media empire. Classic Omega bullshit.

I round a corner and pause, flattening myself against a shelf. There's a flickering light overhead. I want to scream at it to shut the fuck up. It's pulsing like a beacon saying she's here, come get her, come destroy her again.

Then I hear

Not footsteps.

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Chapter 126

A voice.

and warped

the ceilings.

the records. All

voice floods through the

that connects her to this place. I want

I freeze.

drops

He knows.

No. He suspects.

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between us is tugging

My throat locks up.

shouldn't still

He's here.

try to disappear. Like if I press my body hard enough against the wall, the

badge clipped to my chest.

Teresa-

the distance.

Heavy,

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I scramble

up

start moving again, this time keeping low and fast, cutting corners. I

printer, a broken coffee maker, a pile

I turn-and stop.

An intern.

freezes mid-step. We both

his voice cracking like

human before.

blurt. "Teresa. HR sent me down. Got turned around. Italian's not my first

Then closes. He looks back toward

Then shrugs. "Yeah, okay."

I could kiss him.

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Chapter 126

0

hear the sound

Footsteps. Slow. Calculated.

Boots.

And the faintest growl.

That stupid Beta always

shelf,

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scent hits first. That metallic,

Enoch's

mutters.

row.

+15

hand is

pressure. I swear I can hear my pulse in my ears. My belly's

Jacob stops.

Sniffs again.

He turns his head.

I don't move.

Not a breath.

Ring ring.

up in

I don't breathe.

He answers.

heading to the top floor

makes a noise in his throat.

Footsteps retreat.

I stay frozen.

He walks off.

Bootsteps fading.

finally let myself

relax, my phone vibrates a panic attack

other still gripping the stairwell door

Seraphina:

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Chapter 126

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11

archive

waste

in my hand, my feet bare on

hallway is narrow, dusty, and lined with forgotten steel cabinets

I'm pregnant.

pregnant and running from the

this sounds fake

boots slam across concrete as I shove through the

face, and I almost choke from the sudden drop

wet cork and oak barrels and money. The kind of

card in

lights are dim, flickering in places. Somewhere above, I

is hosting another one of its over-the-top client events,

the massive oak barrels stacked

desperation anyway. My fingers are shaking open a dusty storage

I yank wine rep jacket. Still has a company

racks. It's got the logo of the luxury branch stitched over the left breast. Close enough. My skirt's long and black already, passable. I rip out my contacts next-eyes burning-and blink until the room doubles before refocusing. Tug my hair out of its neat bun and rake

three days and sells overpriced

That's exactly the energy I

a breath. Then another. Tell myself I'm not about to throw up from

or baby nausea or

wine crate hidden

GPS tracking, not now. It kills me to leave it-my last link

the back stairwell to