Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Brooke's body is still twisted at the bottom of the stairs. Her limbs are too still. Like

a marionette with her strings cut.

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I don't even realize I've stopped breathing until my lungs start burning. I blink. Once. Twice. My brain is still back there hands fisting in each other's hair, her nails scraping my skin like a feral cat, the sick sound of her foot slipping-then that crack at the end.

My blood's rushing too loud in my ears. I can't focus. Can't think. Can't explain. And then-

"Taryn."

His voice. Deep. Cutting.

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until Enoch's scent slams into me like a fucking freight train-cedarwood and rain and something darker, hotter, wild like the way his eyes used to burn into mine before I ruined everything.

I feel him before I see him.

Fuck.

Shivers run down my spine. I don't know whether I should run downstairs or even follow Brooke in her wake. Maybe then I'd be able to escape.

Goddess, let the floor swallow me up.

I whip around. Enoch's already at the bottom of the stairs, one hand clenched into

a fist at his side, the other twitching like he's one second away from losing it. His eyes-those goddamn forest green eyes-aren't looking at Brooke. They're locked

on me.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Enoch, I didn't-I didn't push her. She just-I was trying to get my phone back and she slipped, and I swear I didn't-"

My throat is dry and I can't stop the way my chest rises, falls, then rises again like I'm breathing through a straw. My vision's tunneling. The guilt, the fear, the complete what the fuck of everything I've just done is clawing at my skin.

And then-he moves.

I flinch, instinctively bracing for a reaction, a roar, a something-but his arms are suddenly around me. I should explain. I should tell him she slipped, that I was just grabbing my phone, that her claws came out first, not mine.

"She's-she's slipped and-and... I didn't-I..." I try to let it out, but stuttering doesn;t help when my breath is ragged and I could feel my lungs closing in. I can't follow my breath and blood is getting to my head,

"I'll take care of it," he murmurs, voice low and rough, vibrating through my bones. "You don't have to say anything. I know it wasn't you."

...What?

My body stiffens. My hands are caught between our chests. My brain's lagging two seconds behind.

"Enoch-"

"She's still breathing," he says. "Barely. But she'll live."

I look down. Brooke's still out cold. Blood trickles from the side of her mouth. Her

leg's bent weird. I immediately look away before I throw up.

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15:22 Mon, 21 Apr 0

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Enoch's grip tighten around me, pressing his hand on the back of my neck so I'm deeper in his chest. I wanna cry, I wanna tell Enoch what I heard from Brooke.

But my mouth won't work. My brain's glitching out. I'm frozen, heart stuttering against his chest like I'm the one who tumbled down the stairs, not Brooke. He presses a kiss to my forehead. It's the kind of thing he used to do when we were still pretending we didn't feel this twisted, fucked-up magnetism pulling us together. A si fall of a sudden, the panic attack inside of me slowly rests and I could breathe properly.

But now? After everything? It hits different. Colder. Hotter. More dangerous.

"I'll take care of it," he says, fingers curling around my jaw like it's something delicate. "You're not gonna carry this."

I turn in his arms, eyes darting to Brooke's motionless body at the foot of the stairs. Her hair's splayed out like a damn crime scene photo, blood seeping from somewhere near her scalp. She's not moving.

Werewolves don't go unconscious like that.

The fall must've been brutal.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

I clutch his shirt tighter, trying to ground myself, but my chest is getting tighter, lungs shrinking like there's not enough oxygen in this palace. Or this damn room. Or the entire world.

"I didn't mean to-she came at me first-l just-my phone-"

"Stop," he orders, and the word crashes over me like a tidal wave.

His voice isn't yelling. That's the worst part. It's soft. Controlled. Which means it's his wolf talking now.

He leans in closer. "You're coming with me. Now."

I'm about to argue, but my knees choose violence and just-give out. The scratch Brooke left on my leg is stinging more than it should. Probably because I'd been too distracted panicking over potential manslaughter charges.

"Fuck," Enoch hisses.

"She scratched you?" he growls. His jaw ticks. And then-just like that-he crouches and lifts me into his arms like it's nothing.

One second I'm vertical and the next I'm pressed up against his chest, my breath catching as I cling to him instinctively. "What the hell are you doing? I can walk-"

"You're bleeding," he growls, like it personally offends him. Like the mere idea of me being in pain sends him into a spiral. "It's just a scratch," I manage, half- embarrassed, half-furious at my own body for being so fucking dramatic right

now.

He doesn't respond. Just strides past Brooke like she's a stain on the carpet. His grip tightens when we pass Jacob, who's just arriving at the scene with a face of someone who already regrets coming.

"Take care of her," Enoch barks over his shoulder.

"She's not dead, right?” I mutter, my voice hoarse.

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Jacob gives me a look like really, Taryn? but nods once. "Breathing. Just out cold."

Cool. So attempted murder is off the list.

For now.

He throws the door to his suite open like it personally insulted him, kicks it shut

behind us, and strides toward the bed.

"Put me down-this is dramatic as hell-"

He sets me down on the bed gently, like I'm made of porcelain or whatever metaphor people use for breakable shit. My leg's still bleeding, but it's already knitting itself closed.

"Stay"

"Oh, I'm not a dog, thanks."

His eyes flash. "No. You're worse. You're a stubborn little omega who thinks it's

cute to throw herself into dangerall the fucking time."

I blink. *...That was oddly romantic and very fucked up at the same time." Enoch ignores me. He grabs a first aid kit from the drawer like this is a routine thing-patching up his unhinged mate after she nearly commits homicide.

"I'm a werewolf, you know," I mutter as he kneels beside the bed, pulling my leg into his lap. "It'll heal."

"You'll let me do this anyway."

He ignores me. Of course he fucking does.

I watch as he yanks open the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a first aid kit.

Like we're in some normal-ass relationship where this is foreplay. Patch each other up. Whisper sweet nothings. Bleed out a little together.

The bottle of antiseptic in his hand is shaking.

He's not calm.

Not even close.

He kneels in front of me and dabs the scratch with gauze. The King-the Lycan King i skneeling in front of me. I flinch at the sting and he growls, low and rough and way too possessive for someone who's supposed to be mad at me.

"You think I can sit back while you let someone touch you like that?" His eyes flick up to mine, glowing faintly. "Scratch you?"

"She clawed me because I was grabbing my phone back. Not because she wanted to fuck me."

His gaze darkens. "Wrong answer."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, pushing at his shoulder. "You can't just go Alpha-mode

because some chick tried to catfight me."

"You're mine."

My breath catches.

"Don't," I whisper.

"I need to go back," I say quickly. "There's still evidence in her room

M.. 1.

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maid, Enoch, the one from the Maldives. I know she was under Brooke. This is my only chance-"

"You're not going anywhere."

His voice turns feral. Low. Dangerous.

"Enoch-"

He pushes me back. One hand to my shoulder, hot and heavy, pinning me to the

mattress like it's nothing.

"Stay."

The command in his tone slices through me like ice. Not just dominant. Not just

alpha. It's king.

Something in my spine goes straight. My wolf whines.

"You're not my Alpha," I snap, because being defiant is the only thing keeping me

from screaming.

"No," he murmurs. "I'm something worse."noveldrama

...Okay, great. So he's self-aware.

His hand stops on my thigh. He's looking at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve,

but he's gonna destroy the whole table trying.

"I didn't leak the article," I say quietly, fingers digging into the sheets. "I wrote it.

But I didn't send it. I was scared, yeah. But I didn't do that to you."

He stands abruptly and moves to the dresser. I think he's leaving.

He's not.

He comes back with a dark bottle, something opaque. No label. Definitely not

apple juice.

"Drink."

"What the hell is it?"

"Something to make you sleep.”

I hesitate. He watches me like a hawk, like I'm some wild thing that might bolt.

My fingers curl tighter around the glass. "I don't need to sleep. I need to fix this."

"You're not fixing shit if you're running on fumes and trauma," he snaps. "You can fix it after you sleep. After I know you're okay. After I know you're not about to

have a fucking breakdown, Taryn."

. Well.

That shut me up.

I stare at him. Really stare. His eyes are wild, his hair's a mess, and I can see it-

barely-but it's there. The crack in his armor. The part of him that's terrified too.

For me.

I drink.

The warmth hits instantly, trickling down my throat, spreading into my chest, my

limbs, my brain. The lim.-:-"

OUK

settles in my gut like molten iron.

Everything slows.

My lashes grow heavy. My body sinks into the mattress.

I don't even feel myself drift. I just know that the last thing I see is Enoch's face

above mine, mouth parted, eyes softening-

I blink up at him as the haze rolls in, and the last thing I see is his hand brushing

the hair from my face, jaw clenched like he's still deciding whether to kiss me or

kill

me.

"You will not runaway again, baby.” He leans in, “I'll fucking make sure of that."

Then everything fades to black.

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