Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

Silence.

Fucking silence.

The kind that doesn't ring in your ears, no-that'd be merciful. This is the kind that weighs, presses, crawls up your skin like mold and shame and exposure. The kind that tells you you've just made a god bleed in front of his kingdom.

And I didn't even touch him.

The projector flickers once and then it goes black. No final credits. No music. It's just that goddamn hum in the air and all those wolfish, hungry murmurs slithering up from the crowd.

"He's weak."

"She has control over him."

"Is this who we follow? Someone who dies with a woman?"

A tight breath lodges itself in my ribs and doesn't leave. I feel like I'm breathing

through a straw jammed down my throat. The murmurs grow teeth.

"He's a liability."

"The Lycan King is ruled by a woman's tears."

"Kill him now while he's soft."

I glance at Enoch before I try to step forward, maybe say something, scream, tackle the fucking screen, anything-

"That wasn't the video I-"

He doesn't even flinch.

Enoch stands on the dais as though he's carved out of glacier rock. No twitch, no eye shift, no indication that the walls are cracking behind his eyes. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

He's gone cold. My mate has gone cold.

His jaw ticks once. His hands are fisted at his sides, but the rest of him is still. Unreadable. Unreachable. Untouchable.

Then he turns.

I wish he hadn't.

Because when he turns to face me-those forest-green eyes, eyes that used to soften when they found mine, even in the dark, even when he forgot my name- are nothing now. It's just... empty. As if I was a dream he forced himself to wake up from.

He doesn't yell. That would've been easier to take.

No. He speaks. One word.

"Twice."

It slices through me and I immediately try to step forward.

"Enoch, I-" My voice cracks like glass. "I swear, that wasn't-"

"Twice now," he says, stepping forward, "you've fed them pieces of me."

The ballroom stretches and sways, too bright, too sharp. I feel it closing in. All the eyes, all the whispers. None of them matter. Just him. Just his voice-quiet, but heavier than any scream.

"It wasn't intentional-"

"Does it matter?" he says, and this time it's not a question. It's a sentence. A fucking death sentence. "The result is the

same."

I try to move. My legs are moving-I think. But he's already stepping off the dais,

the sound of his steps trailing behind him like a funeral shroud.

He's leaving.

He's leaving as if I'm nothing but smoke he's done breathing in. "Enoch, wait-"

Successfully unlocked!

I shove past a group of nobles, ignoring the way the people sinks as though they are already composing the article in her head: 'Lycan King Brought to His Knees by Omega Whore.'

I follow him. Into the side corridor off the ballroom. I don't even know where I'm going, I just chase the scent of him-warm pine and ash and destruction.

"Enoch!"

He's halfway through the door to a side chamber when I grab his arm.

"Please, Just fucking listen to me-" I try to argue.

He turns before he roughly yanks his arm free. And his face-

It's not angry. It's worse. It's wounded.

"Was this revenge?" he asks, his voice flat but wild beneath. "Is this what I deserve for not loving you right the first time?"

My mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. Then-"No. No, it's not like that. I didn't mean for any of this-"

I was cut off when he laughs. Hollow. The kind of sound that doesn't belong in his throat.

"You made me a fool," he says, gesturing toward the ballroom. "Again. In front of the very people waiting for me to fall."

I step closer. "That file is not mine this time. I was going to show them the truth- about how much I love you and-and everything we went through. The Maldives, the fight, the cave, your fucking eyes, I-"

"Fuck you, Taryn. I let you in," he says. "And now everyone sees what you made of me."

My knees hit the floor before I even think.

It's cold marble, and it scrapes against the thin fabric of my dress, but I don't care. My palms press into it as if I can make him see me.noveldrama

"I love you," I whisper to the ground, hoping he would hear my desperation. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, or who's behind that video, but I love you. Please, baby." I look up at him as tears began to slid out of my eyes. "Isn't that worth anything to you?"

He stares. For a long time. Too long.

His eyes are rimmed in red. His lips are pressed into a line so tight it's white. He looks like he's two seconds from shattering or setting the whole kingdom on fire. Then, he speaks.

"Not anymore."

The sound that leaves me isn't human.

I feel it rip from my chest, raw and hoarse, as he turns-

And leaves.

There's no pause. No backward glance. Nothing.

It's just my knees on cold marble, a ballroom full of jackals, and the realization

that I just lost him. Again.

And this time?

He might not come back.

***

My heels click too loud against the marble floor as I walk, or stumble-fuck if I know anymore. My breath is hitching, shaky, uneven. I press my fingers against the side of my neck as if that's gonna keep the pain from cracking me wide open.

He left. He fucking left.

Enoch turned his back on me like I was a smear under his boot. Like none of it meant shit. The Maldives. The cave. Every whispered word when he thought no one else was listening.

Or maybe someone was.

Brooke. It was what Brooke told me. It wasn't over.

My body's cold, but my chest burns like someone dumped gasoline in my ribcage

and struck a match. iSo this is what she meant. She succeeded then.

I cut through the west wing-nobody uses it this late. It's quiet, abandoned, with nothing but long windows and statues too ancient to feel real. The silence presses down as a weight I didn't ask to carry.

I just need a fucking second to breathe:

But I don't get it.

There's a rustle. A shift of shadow just up ahead.

My whole body jerks.

"What the-?"

Then it happens.

A sharp, slicing zing-steel against air-and the flash of silver catches the light.

A figure lunges from the shadows towards me. Holy sh-

I don't even scream. I fucking move. Instinct, panic, training from every time I've

had to defend myself in this goddamn kingdom. My arm comes up, but not fast enough.

The blade slices across my side.

Hot. Wet. "Ah!" I groan.

My dress tears, and blood spills, warmth blooming beneath my ribs. It's not a nick-it's deep, raw, and pulsing.

"Fucking-bitch!" I gasp, stumbling back, one hand clutching the gash, the other swinging wildly,

I kick. My heel lands hard-somewhere near their gut or groin, I don't care. They grunt, stagger, and then they're gone, slinking into the shadows like a coward.

My knees hit the floor.

Cold tiles meet my palms.

Blood pools under me, staining the satin of my dress, and all I can hear is the

sound of my own ragged breathing. And the faint, metallic scent of blood curling

into my nose.

The video. The ballroom. His face.

They know now. They all fucking know Enoch's not untouchable.

And because of what that video said, they know I'm the way to get to him. To

wound the King.

I press my hand to my side, clenching my teeth. "Enoch..." I called.

The word tastes like iron and shame and heartbreak.

If the bond still means anything-if he feels it like I do-he'll come.

He has to.

I drag myself down the hall, each step worse than the last. The world sways. My

vision blurs. My palm slips off the wall, leaving a red streak.

The room-our room-spins into view.

I crash onto the bed, face-first, dress sticking to my skin. The sheets are too

clean, too soft. I land on it as I stare up the ceiling. Before I knew it, I'm laughing.

A hollow, cracked sound.

This bed held his body.

His heat. His arms. His weight when he kissed me as if I was the only fucking thing keeping him alive.

Now it holds nothing but my blood.

I shake. Full-body trembles that won't stop, no matter how tightly I grip the

blankets. I wait.

Wait for the door to slam open. For his voice to snarl my name, worried about the

wound I have right now. Maybe help me bandage it while it heals.

But hours and hours and hours ticked and nothing.

Just silence.

And the sound of my own broken breaths.

I don't know what happened to the ball I thoroughly prepared but it's past midnight

when I break.

Sobs rip from me, wild and raw and ugly. I claw at the covers, the wall, my chest- anything to pull out the ache-but it stays and it festers. W

With the wound still on me, I walk to the ballroom in this heavy dress. It's empty

now, considering it's three in the morning. There's not a single Omega to clean

the place.

My fingers find the drive tucked under the projector and I quickly rip it out.

This fucking piece of shit. I slam it against the marble floor.

Again.

And again.

Shards fly. Plastic cracks.

"I didn't mean to do this," I gasp through the tears. “I didn't... I didn't...”

My voice keeps going even though I don't mean for it to.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. I'm still lying there.

Bleeding. Shivering. The gash stops pouring after a while-my Lycan healing

finally kicking in-but it's slow. It hurts.

Which means he felt it.

He felt my pain. And he still didn't come.

I stare at the ceiling of the ballroom. Every breath feels like I'm inhaling glass.

He doesn't trust me.

And I... I'm done begging.

When the sky starts shifting-gray bleeding into weak gold onto the large vertical

windows of the palace-I sit up. My body screams in protest, but I don't care. I move back to my room like a fucking machine. Pulling my old duffel from the closet, I shove in clothes I barely fold.

I pick up

pen and some paper. This is the only thing I could leave. A letter.

I don't read it after. I just fold it and tuck it on the Dowager's drawer when I slip

into her room.

She's asleep. Peaceful. Her hand resting over the book I never returned.

I stay there longer than I should. Just watching.

I think-if I wake her, I'll break again.

So I don't.

I close the door behind me. Gently.

A single tear slips down my cheek.

But my face hardens the moment the cold air hits me as I walk out the back door.

This palace was never my home.

Maybe it was just a goddamn trap dressed in silk and silver.

I step into the dawn with my bag slung over my shoulder, my coat clutched in my

arms, and blood still crusted on my ribs.

I loved you, Enoch.

God, I loved you.

But I'm tired now.

I give up.

I dial Liam's phone.

"Hey... is the job offer in Italy still up?"

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