Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 45

Chapter 45 

SERAPHINA 

1 wake up choking on my own breath 

The moment consciousness dams into me, it brings the weight of land with My cheese may de feels two sizes too small, and my stomach charne biz i willowed aid to exantly why. 

I lied, I fucking lied 

The words rot inside me, festering like an open wound. I don’t know why 1 expected to feet Banter der derging offe guilt is something you can just sweat out overnight. No, it’s here to say, curling up in my ribs, growing may destr parasite. 

The worst part is that no one even questioned me. Not Kallias. Not the pack even took–theath, to be ter he looked half a second away from ripping my throat out. And maybe I deserved i 

No. I do deserve it. 

I should’ve told them. I should’ve told him. 

But I didn’t. And now, my silence tastes like blood in my mouth. 

The morning light slices through the window, too sharp, too exposing. The moment my eyes open, I know–dery didn’t erase a damn thing. Taryn is still gone. And I let them believe I don’t know where she is. My body protests as I push myself up, every muscle aching from exhaustion and whatever bruises I picked up on the way back. My dress from yesterday is will stained, torn at the hem. I don’t even remember kicking it off before collapsing onto the bed. 

The thought makes me sick. I shove off the suffocating blankets, my movements jerky, and swing my legs off the bed. The moment my bare feet touch the cold floor, I’m up and moving. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to do something Anything but sit here and let my own mind tear me apart. 

I make it halfway across the room before I catch my reflection in the mirror. 

Jesus Christ. 

My hair’s a tangled disaster, my face pale, dark circles bruising the skin beneath my eyes. I look like someone who’s been through hell and barely crawled back. And maybe I have. But I know, deep down, it’s not from what was done to me. 

It’s from what I did. 

The packhouse is quiet when I step into the hallway, but my pulse isn’t. It pounds, erratic, drowning out everything else. I don’t know where I’m going until I’m already moving. 

My legs carry me before my mind can stop them. 

Straight to him. 

*** 

Enoch and Taryn’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away into the Omega’s hall quarters. The door is closed, but the energy behind it hums, vibrating with something sharp–edged and volatile. 

I don’t knock. I can’t. My hand is already on the handle, and before I can think twice, I push the door open. 

I stop. 

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Chapter 45 

The room is wrecked. 

Shredded curtains hang in strips, fluttering weakly in the morning breeze. The bed—what’s left of it–is overturned, one of the wooden posts snapped clean in half. My eyes land on deep claw marks gouging the walls, the floor, the furniture. Splinters, broken glass, torn fabric–destruction clutters every inch of the space. 

And in the middle of it all, standing like a statue carved from ruin, is Enoch. 

His back is to me, muscles drawn so tight they might snap. His hands hang loose at his sides, but his fingers twitch, like they want to curl into fists. His breathing is deep. Too deep. 

As though he’s trying to hold something back. 

Like he’s failing. 

I don’t make a sound, but he knows I’m here. 

Slowly, he turns. 

Crimson eyes meet mine. Not hazy, not unfocused, not distant the way they usually are. 

No. 

This is something else. 

This is clarity. 

“Where is she?” 

The words are low, even, but they don’t need volume to hit like a fucking wrecking ball. 

My throat dries. 

His voice–this voice–isn’t the one that used to slur and stumble over words. It isn’t the fragmented, lost sound of a man trying to remember how to exist as Taryn coddled him to be, like an amnesiac man. 

It’s something sharper. Heavier. Somehow feeling a blade pressed against skin. 

“W–what?” My own voice betrays me, shaking, stuttering like a fucking idiot. 

His 

eyes don’t blink. 

“Where. Is. She,” 

I step back, but my body hits the doorframe. I can’t move. 

This isn’t Enoch. 

This isn’t the pathetic, amnesiac stray that Taryn used to drag around as a wounded pet. 

This is something else. Something terrifying. 

And for the first time since I came back, I realize- 

Taryn isn’t here to hold him back anymore. 

His stare is fucking terrifying. 

It’s not just anger–anger is predictable. Manageable. No, this is something else entirely. Something ancient and lethal 

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Chapter 45 

simmering beneath the surface, ready to snap my neck like a goddamn twig 

I knew he’d be furious. I knew he’d be out for blood. 

But I didn’t expect this. 

“Where,” he demands, voice guttural, barely more than a smarl. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. Ife simply stands there. a living, breathing executioner, waiting for my next words to decide if he’ll spare me. 

I want to lie again. It’s instinct. Self–preservation to avoid anything dangerous. But my mouth betrays me before I can even think. 

“She’s—” I swallow hard, my throat dry as hell. “She’s taken.” 

Silence. 

And then I regret every single life decision that brought me here because Enoch fucking moves. 

Before I can even process it, I’m airborne, spine colliding with the wall so hard the impact knocks the breath straight out of me. His hand wraps around my throat, pressing just enough to warn, to terrify, but not quite enough to cut off air. Not yet. 

“How long?” The words are quiet, but they carry the murmurs of a thousand fucking deaths. 

I claw at his wrist, gasping, but there’s no escape. His grip tightens, and my pulse pounds beneath his fingers, a frantic drumbeat of terror. 

T–three days ago when I–I first arrived-” I choke out, vision blurring. 

A sound rumbles from deep within his chest, something primal and deadly. Then- 

He drops me. 

I hit the floor hard, coughing, sucking in air like it’s the first time I’ve ever breathed. My hands shake as I press them against. the cold stone, trying to ground myself, trying to ignore the way my entire body is trembling. 

Enoch stands over me, breathing ragged, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. His entire body radiates fury, the kind that isn’t loud or reckless–it’s controlled. Deadly. The kind of rage that doesn’t just hurt. It destroys. 

“If anything-” his voice wavers, cracking under his sheer restraint, “if she’s hurt–if she’s dead-” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. 

I already know exactly what he’s capable of. 

And I believe him. 

He turns, storming out of the room like a goddamn force of nature, and I know- 

I’ve just set the world on fire. 

** 

I step out of Enoch’s room, my heart on fire. But it burned even more when I saw whose eyes I didn;t expect to meet witing outside the halls. 

I can’t fucking breathe. 

“K–kallias?” I called but his stare tells me everything I need to know. He heard everything. 

3/5 

on, 24 

Chapter 45