Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 119

CHAPTER 119

I didn’t think I would see them here. Nor anyone or ever, actually. But here they are. The Goddess really do have a creative way of fucking with me.

“Seraphina?” Her name slips out like I’ve swallowed glass–jagged, hot, pointless.

And there she is.

I don’t know how and why she’s here but Italy hasn’t humbled her. She’s sleeker now, her hair is straightened into something sharp, her lips stained deep plum as though she’s got places to be and men to kill. She’s wearing a designer trench. Heels that click like accusations on concrete. Still walking like she’s above everyone else, but now she probably is.

I cross my arms, mostly because I’m freezing and she looks warm and expensive in her tailored coat and those stupid chic sunglasses perched on her head like a tiara.

I feel like an airport rat in comparison–wrinkled jacket, bags under my eyes, adrenaline still dragging claws down my back after the flight and that almost–murder back home.

She looks at me as if I’m a ghost she didn’t believe in. “Huh. So it really is you.”

A pause. A heartbeat. I’m not sure if I want to punch her or collapse.

“I was told a new consultant was flying in,” she says coolly, adjusting her sunglasses on her head. “I didn’t think I’d be scraping the bottom of that particular barrel.”

My brow lifts. “Still a bitch. Thank God. I thought Italy might’ve scrubbed you clean.”

She grins. It’s not kind. “Please. The day I go soft is the day I die.”

I hum. “Shame. I was hoping today might be the day.”

She shrugs, a little too cool about it. “Italy’s big, but the supernatural circle? Not so much.” Then she gestures toward the waiting car like this is fucking normal. “Come on. We’ll talk on the drive.”

The silence between us is brutal–thick with all the shit we never said and probably won’t.

But I follow her toward the waiting car anyway, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? Turn around and fly back to the ruins of my life?

She gestures with a flick of her manicured hand, and I climb into the backseat, spine stiff and fingers curled too tight around my duffel. Inside the car smells like leather and coffee. There’s a half–empty bottle of sparkling water in the cupholder and some kind of EDM shit playing quietly from the front speakers. I settle in, tense, while Ser climbs in beside me and pulls the door shut.

This is the same girl who bullied the heavens out of me back then, yet also the first friend I thought I has when I first stepped in the Riverstone Pack.

She hasn’t even asked why I’m here. But she knows.

CHAPTER 119

“You look like hell,” she says, folding one leg over the other. “Rome’s gonna eat you alive.”

I shrug. “Let it try.” I’ve had enough for the last week.

The driver doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. He’s paid to pretend we’re not sitting back here like two former enemies dressed in civility and secrets.

“So,” she starts, dragging the syllable like it offends her. “You ran.”

I glance out the window. “I survived.”

“And now you’re here. Working for the same people who fund half the supernatural politics in Europe. Cute.”

I turn my head, deadpan. “You done?”

She smirks. “Not even close. But I’ll pace myself.”

“So…” I say finally, dragging the word out. “You’re a what now?”

She snorts, tipping her head back. “A lead secretary. Not exactly what I dreamed of when I was sixteen and delusional about becoming a Luna, huh?”

I glance sideways at her. “Didn’t stop you from trying.”

She shrugs again, a small wince tightening her face. “Fair. But after you… left, things between me and Kallias turned to absolute shit. Turns out status doesn’t warm your bed when he won’t touch you.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” She laughs under her breath, bitter and amused. “Don’t look so smug. I know I was a bitch back then. Probably still am.”

“Less bitchy. More… tolerable.” I raise a brow. “Which, by the way, is weirding me out.” “Right? Same. I was half–hoping you’d deck me just so it’d feel normal.”

I give her a sidelong smirk. “Still can. Your face looks like it’s never met a bruise.”

She laughs, and it’s real this time. “God, I forgot how fucking annoying you are.”

The car slides through Rome’s streets, past peeling murals and sunburnt domes, and I let the scenery distract me from the fact that I’m sitting next to a girl who once tried to sleep with the boy I loved and almost got me killed for it. Time really is a sick joke.

Ser leans against the door, watching me. “So. What are you really doing here, Taryn?”

I glance at the driver. He doesn’t even blink.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Ser says, waving a hand. “Don’t worry. Spill.”

I pause. My fingers curl tight in my lap, nails digging into my jeans.

“Needed a new start,” I mutter. “Things got… dangerous back home.”

“Because of His Majesty?” she asks, too carefully.

CHAPTER 119

I don’t answer. Which is answer enough.

Ser whistles. “You really were mated to the Lycan King. I thought the rumors were just clickbait shit. You and King Ghost–Face–damn. You really like your men fucked up, huh?”

“Could say the same about you and Kallias.”

“Touche.”

“You know,” she says after a beat, voice softer but no less dangerous, “I always wondered how it would end for you.”

I tilt my head, curious in that masochistic way. “And?”

“Not like this.” She laughs, bitter. “You were always the feral one. I figured you’d go out guns blazing, not crawling back from the dead with a job and a carry–on.”

“I did go out guns blazing.” I meet her eyes. “You just weren’t watching.”

Something flickers across her face, and for the first time, I see it–the shadow of guilt. Real or fake? Who the hell knows anymore.

“After you saved me,” she says quietly, “from those men–after the kidnapping–l should’ve told someone. I should’ve told him.”

My body tenses.

“He looked for you, you know. Enoch, that pet you saved. Like a madman. After the fire. After your scent disappeared. I thought he was going to bring the whole damn forest down just to get you back.”

The words dig under my skin. I hate how my chest aches with them.

“I thought about telling him,” she says. “But you were already gone, and I figured maybe… maybe it was better that way.”

I swallow hard. “Better for who?”

She doesn’t answer. Just looks out the window like it’s easier to face Rome than me.

“Do you love him?” she asks suddenly.

I blink. “Is that really your business?”

“No. But I’m asking anyway.”

I pause. “He’s not the kind of man you love quietly. He’s a war you walk into knowing you’ll bleed.”

She exhales, slow. “That’s what I thought.”

By the time we pull up to her building, the sun’s dipped behind pink–stained clouds, casting long shadows over the cobblestone street. I step out and immediately smell basil and tobacco, like someone nearby’s cooking and chain–smoking through a

CHAPTER 119

divorce.

“Dio mio,” Ser groans, rolling her eyes as she locks the car. “Every fucking time I come home, someone’s cooking pesto and blasting Andrea Bocelli like it’s 2002.”

“Honestly? Vibe.”

She shoots me a crooked smile that barely reaches her eyes and leads me inside the building. It’s older, but not in a creepy haunted–violin–music way. More like a “this place has history and probably a thousand secrets under the floorboards” kind of old.

There’s a spiral staircase that curves like a drunken pretzel and walls covered in faded floral wallpaper that looks like it’s seen better centuries.

She speaks Italian to the doorman–a rapid, fluid exchange that sounds suspiciously like flirtation–and I blink at her. “You speak Italian now?”

“One of the perks of being a corporate bitch,” she smirks, swiping a keycard and motioning for me to follow. “The company pays for language lessons, housing, wardrobe, even your Uber to therapy if you snap from the pressure. And babe–you will snap.”

That… sounds oddly appealing.

Her apartment is small but clean, two bedrooms and a sunlit living area with an open kitchen and a view of the city that could make an influencer sob. She gives me a half- tour with a lazy wave. “Guest room’s down the hall. Bathroom’s yours too–don’t touch my retinol serum unless you want to lose a finger. Tomorrow I’ll bring you to the office so I can initiate you into the Hunger Games.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Yeah. Don’t fuck it up.” She tosses me a pillow and blanket before disappearing into her room.

By the time I crawl into bed, the adrenaline’s finally leaving my system, leaving me raw and sore in all the places you can’t see. I stare at the plain ceiling and imagine how my life would’ve looked if i hadn’t met Enoch. Or if I hadn’t stayed. Or if I never wrote that stupid article.

I unlock my phone and shoot a message to Liam:

Do not tell anyone where I am. Not even Zoe. Not even God.

Then, because it’s bugging me, I try calling Zoe. She hasn’t texted since the ball, which is unlike her. Bubbly, clingy Zoe with her tea spills and love for conspiracy videos..

Straight to voicemail,

I try again. Nothing.

“Weird,” I whisper to myself, a sharp prick crawling down my spine. Not enough to call it panic. Not yet. Just… something off.

CHAPTER 119

Hours pass. I toss. I turn. I curse at the ceiling like it personally wronged me.

Still no sleep.

I finally close my eyes. That’s when Eris shows up.

Not in some dreamscape bullshit way. She just appears in my head as if she’s been waiting all fucking night for me to acknowledge her.

“You’re being disgustingly emotional” she snorts.

I groan. “Of course you’d pick now.”

“You’re crying over a guy who abandoned you like a lost sock. Have some goddamn pride.”

“He didn’t abandon me,” I mutter into the pillow. “He’s just… handling shit.”