Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32 

Chapter 32 

The world snaps into focus all at once. 

I suck in a sharp breath, my lungs burning as though I’ve been holding it anderwater My Body care Bot the pr background noise compared to the single, horrifying realization still ringing in my head 

Enoch. 

The doctor’s voice echoes, the words twisting around my skull like barbed wire 

“The Alpha’s making sure of it. That man–Enoch–won’t be a problem soon 

Panic slams into my chest. 

My eyes fly open, and I blink rapidly against the fluorescent lights stabbing into my skull. The fire things the ine stuck into my arm, the needle buried deep in my vein. 

A cold shiver runs down my spine. Werewolves rarely need IVs–our wolves usually handle the healing, Which mea I me have been in a world of pain for them to stick this into me. 

White sheets. A massive four–poster bed. Dim lighting. A nauseatingly familiar scent. 

No. 

I barely have time to process it before I realize I’m not in the pack hospital. The walls are dark, the sheets onell like expensive cologne, and when I shift, the mattress beneath me is way too soft for a place that treats ock sesle 

I know exactly where I am. 

I grit my teeth, my voice rough as sandpaper. “Where the hell am I?” 

“You’re awake.” 

I flinch at the voice, my body recoiling like it wants to leap out the darnn window. Kallias is sitting on the edge of the bed too close, his dark brows drawn together like he actually gives a shit. He’s dressed down, his asual Alpha arrogance dampened, but I don’t let that fool me. 

“What the fuck am I doing here?” My voice is rough, my throat dry. 

Kallias‘ jaw tightens. “You collapsed. I brought you here.” 

He looks relaxed, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. His eyes flick to my face, scanning me, and something in his expression darkens. 

“You’re in my room,” he says, voice deceptively calm. “In my bed.” 

Disgust crawls up my throat. I push myself up, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to pull me back under. The IV tugs at my arm, but I don’t give a shit. 

The doctor shifts awkwardly by the door, clearly wishing he were anywhere but here. He looks at Kallias before flicking his gaze to me, his mouth opening like he’s about to say something. 

I don’t give him the chance. 

“What the hell were you talking about?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the thick silence. “What did you mean about Enoch?” 

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Thu, 20 Mar AM 

Chapter 32 

The doctor’s expression shutters immediately. 

He glances at Kallias again. 

Kallias, who now looks fucking furious. 

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His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and his fingers twitch against his knee like he’s seconds away from tearing the guy’s throat 

out. 

“Doctor,” I say slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Tell me.” 

The doctor hesitates. 

And that’s all I need to see. 

Kallias‘ lips curl, low and warning. “You don’t need to worry about him.” 

Wrong answer. 

I rip the IV out of my arm. The sting barely registers before I’m shoving the sheets off and scrambling to my feet. My legs wobble, but I lock my knees and push forward, adrenaline drowning out everything else. 

“Taryn-” 

I shoulder past the doctor, hard enough that he stumbles back. 

Kallias snarls my name behind me, but I don’t stop. I yank the door open and burst into the hallway, the cold floor slamming against my bare feet. The castle is dim, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. 

The moment I’m in the hallway, the world tilts. My head is still foggy, my body weak from the rejection, but I don’t stop. 

I can’t stop. 

Whispers. Stares. 

I don’t give a damn. 

I’m moving too fast, too frenzied, my brain scrambling for any piece of information that will tell me where the hell Enoch is. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I have to find him. 

The pack house is busy, wolves moving through the corridors, their conversations a low murmur of noise. It isn’t until I reach the main hall that I hear something that makes my stomach fucking drop. 

Alpha’s putting the new beast in the fighting ring.” 

I freeze. My breath lodges in my throat. 

Another voice scoffs. “The thing’s massive. Feral. They should just put it down.” 

No. 

No, no, no. 

I whirl toward the voices, spotting two pack members leaning against a pillar, talking like they aren’t di Rage burns up my spine. Before I can think, I grab one by the collar and yank him toward me. 

“What did you just say?” My voice is sharp, shaking, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. 

The guy blanches, startled. “What the―” 

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Chapter 82 

“What did you just exy? 1 star. 

He glances at his friend, looking uneasy now. “The—the beast, he stammers, shifting uncomfortably. “The one they captured, He’s being thrown into the fighting ring tomorrow.” 

A sharp ringing fills my ears. My grip tightens before I shove him back, my breath coming fast and uneven. The fighting ring. The barbaric gladiator pit the Alpha of the Riverstone Pack uses to entertain himself. Where rogues, criminals, and unlucky bastards get thrown in and torn apart for sport. 

And now Enoch is about to be thrown in there. 

The floor filte 

My stomach drops. 

Fighting ring 

Like slaves. 

My hands start shaking,” 

Enoch 

No. 

No, no 

A voice startles me from above. 

“Taryn” 

Kallias, 

I stiffen, looking up at the second–floor railing. He’s standing there, looking down at me, his expression unreadable but his voice thick with command. 

The entire hall falls silent. Wolves stop walking, heads turning toward me. The rejected Omega being summoned by the Alpha. 

Fuck no. 

Fear spikes in my throat, but I don’t let it root. I spin on my heel and run. 

I don’t care. 

I can’t let him get close. I can’t let him stop me. 

“Ah!” 

A sharp gasp rips from my throat when my foot catches on the uneven stone, and I stumble, barely catching myself before my knee scrapes the floor. Pain flares hot and fast, but I bite it down, pushing forward. 

Barefoot, wild–eyed, probably looking like I crawled out of a goddamn grave. 

Kallias calls my name again. 

I don’t stop. 

I sprint past the hall, past the wide–eyed pack members, past the guards standing at their posts. 

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Chapter 22 

I base to get to the dungeons 

And I have to get there before I’s too late. 

I get out of the pack how’s backdoor, letting in the forest air seep into my exposed skin. 

The dungeons are buried deep in the heart of the forest, past the pack houses, past the training grounds, past any place that resent les diviakon K’s where criminals rot, forgotten and unwanted 

The air thickens with the stench of mold and decay as I push forward, ignoring the burning in my legs, the sting of twigs siding at my skin 

The entrance is grated–dnbly. Two men, both bulky, both bored out of their damn minds. My heart slams against my ribs as I skid to a stop behind the trees Think, Taryn. Think fast. 

I grip the nearest rock and check it into the bushes across from them. It rastles, loud enough to make them snap to 

“The fuck was that 

Noida 

One of them grips his sword, stepping toward the noise. The other follows, just a little further–perfect. 

I move. 

Fucking amateurs. 

The second their backs are turned. I bolt for the door. My fingers slip against the rusted handle, my pulse hammering so loud I can barely think. The door groans as it gives, the sound swallowed by the oppressive dark inside. 

I rush in, gagging instantly. 

Murky water laps at my ankles. It smells like rot, like piss, like everything that should be buried six feet under. The only light comes from flickering torches, their weak glow illuminating the worst of the worst–prisoners caged behind rusted bars. 

Rogues. Murderers. 

And they know fresh meat when they see it. 

Hands shoot between the bars, reaching, clawing, desperate. Someone giggles–high–pitched, broken. Another sobs, whispering something I can’t understand. 

“Come here, little Omega, a voice croons. “You lost?” 

1 ignore them, my pulse a relentless drumbeat in my ears. My gaze darts down the corridor, past the hungry hands and the snarling teeth, until- 

There. 

At the very end of the hall. 

Chains. Four of them, each bolted to the stone wall, pinning a man by his wrists and ankles. His body is slack, head tilted forward, jet black hair hanging in tangled strands over his bruised face. 

Enoch 

My stomach caves in and a sharp cry rips from my throat before I can stop it 

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10:14 Thu, 20 Mar A