King Novel novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Chapter 77

I can’t fucking breathe.

The ink is bold, deep, and permanent–carved into his skin as a fucking brand.

Taryn.

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It runs across his ribs, curling toward his back, though it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there. No, I belong there.

No. No, that’s not–That’s not how this is supposed to go.

I turn to Jacob, my voice barely making it past the dryness in my throat. “When-” My lips part, then press together, because what the hell do I even say? Why the fuck is my name on his body? Did he lose a bet? A dare? A goddamn brain cell?

Jacob just smirks, tilting his head toward the ring. “Watch the fight.”

I want to grab him by the collar and shake the answer out of him, but my hands are frozen at my sides, my mind a screaming whirlwind of no no no no. Because I do want to know. I want to demand it. But I also don’t want to hear whatever the hell is about to come out of his mouth.

Because what if it’s something I can’t handle?

The roar of the underground crowd swells like a heartbeat around me. Enoch steps into the ring, and the air shifts. It’s not just because he’s massive, or because he carries himself like the goddamn king he is–it’s because he’s dangerous. And everyone in this building can feel it.

I watch as he rolls his shoulders, stretching out the sheer size of him, muscles shifting under skin as a coiled predator ready to spring. He barely acknowledges the guy he’s about to fight–some thick–necked bastard already bouncing on the balls of his feet, cracking his knuckles thinking he has a fucking chance.

The ref barely gets a word in before the guy lunges.

Big mistake.

Enoch doesn’t just dodge–he moves quick, shifting his weight so fluidly it’s almost lazy. Almost like he’s bored. Then he strikes. A punch so fast it barely registers before the guy’s head snaps back, blood spraying from his nose as he stumbles. The crowd loses their minds.

But Enoch doesn’t stop.

He closes in, planting his feet, throwing another hit, and another. His opponent tries to swing back, but it’s a goddamn joke -Enoch catches his fist mid–air, twisting it in a way that makes something crack. The guy screams.

I flinch.

Holy fuck.

Enoch doesn’t.

He releases him just to grab him again–fist in his shoulder, dragging him forward, knee slamming up into his ribs hard enough that he folds like a paper doll. The ref is yelling something, but Enoch isn’t listening. He’s gone, lost in that wild, violent part of him, and his opponent is just trying to fucking survive.

And then–then he really loses it.

A savage punch to the face. Another. Another. His opponent is no longer a fighter; he’s a fucking punching bag. The crowd is screaming, but I can’t hear shit over the sickening sound of knuckles on flesh. The ref lunges in–grabbing Enoch’s arm,

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Chapter 77

shouting at him to stop. For a second, I think he won’t.

But then he does.

Barely.

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He jerks back, chest heaving, looking down at the crumpled, bloodied body at his feet. And then he just turns, walking, wwwz like he didn’t just beat a man to near unconsciousness in under two minutes.

The ref stumbles forward, throwing his arm up toward Enoch.

“Winner by knockout-”

The rest is drowned out by the explosion of voices, cheers, groans, curses as people either celebrate their winnings or mourn their lost bets. The energy in the room is electric, but I’m still frozen in place, staring at the Enoch I’m seeing him for the first time. Thid version.

His back is to me. Broad, powerful, damp with sweat. My name still inked across his side, his skin will vibrating from the fight, from whatever darkness he let consume him in that ring.

I don’t realize I’m shaking until Jacob nudges me.

“You wanted to know something?”

I drag my eyes away from Enoch’s retreating form, forcing myself to look at Jacob instead. My voice comes out hoarse. “When did he get that tattoo?”

Jacob exhales, tilting his head slightly, watching me too closely. “After he got back to the palace.”

That shouldn’t mean anything to me.

It shouldn’t.

But the words sink in, winding tight around my ribs, cutting off my air supply.

Jacob’s smirk fades, his usual sharp–edged humor softening. “He looked like shit, Sinclair. He murmurs. “Like a man who left his breath behind and had to live without it.”

My stomach twists.

“His uncle was planning to do lots of things to you had he not taken care of him.” Jacob turns back to the ring an my breath hitches.

Enoch left me. He walked away, no explanation, no fight, no choice. Because if he hadn’t, I’d be dead. His uncle would’ve made sure of it after that kidnapping bullshit Ser and I went through.

And now, years later, with everything that’s happened–he’s here. And my name is inked on his body.

The burn in my eyes comes fast, blurring my vision before I can even think about stopping it. I swallow hard, blinking rapidly, forcing the tears back as I turn to look for him again. But he’s already gone.

A new fight is starting. The ring is being cleaned. The world is moving on.

I feel fucking sick.

“Bathroom,” I mutter, already shoving past Jacob. “Now.”

Zoe scrambles after me, still rambling about her latest obsession. “Okay, but can we talk about that Italian fighter? Holy shit.

He could wreck me, and I would thank him—”

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Chapter 77

I barely make it into the bathroom before I’m dry heaving over the sink.

Zoe’s rant cuts off. “Jesus, Taryn-”

I clutch the edge of the counter, inhaling shakily. “I’m fine.”

“You just tried to vomit up air, you’re not fine.” She looks around wildly, as if the answer to my state might be somewhere in the dingy mirror or the graffiti–covered stalls.

She doesn’t know what I just learned. She didn’t hear Jacob.

I shake my head, straightening up, forcing my expression back into something neutral. “I need to go.”

“Go?” Zoe blinks. “Like–go home? Now?”

I nod.

Her brows furrow, lips pressing into a pout before she sighs dramatically. “Fine, but you’re not walking out of here alone.”

I almost argue, remind her that I’m a werewolf and no human would ever be a threat to me. But I don’t.

Because right now, human or not, I don’t really want to be alone.

Not with his name still pressed into my skull.

Not with my name still burned into his skin.

We get out through the back door and the night air is thick with sweat, beer, and the lingering stench of blood. The crowd inside is still roaring from the fight, but out here, in the dimly lit parking lot, it’s eerily quiet.

Zoe’s phone screen glows as she texts Jacob, fingers tapping fast. A second later, her phone pings, and she grins. “He’s coming to get us.”

I barely nod. My pulse is still erratic, my thoughts spinning in circles. I need to get home. I need to breathe. I need to-

The hair on my nape stands up.

A presence. Familiar. Too familiar.

My fingers curl into fists before I even look. But I do. Because I can’t not.

And there he fucking is.

Enoch Blackwell.

Standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, a gym bag strap slung across his body. He’s in gray sweatpants, a fitted black shirt clinging to every sculpted muscle, looking effortlessly powerful and maddeningly unaffected.

But his eyes–God, his eyes. That dark forest greens locks onto mine as though he’s seeing the world for the first time. Like nothing else fucking matters.

He didn’t expect to see me in his fight.

My heart launches itself into my throat, punching its way out of my ribcage.

He didn’t abandon me.

He’s right here.

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Chapter 77

Now what?

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I swallow hard, shaking my head, forcing oxygen into my lungs. No. I’m not doing this. I have a job. A goddamn career. A purpose. Enoch is engaged. He has an entire kingdom waiting for him.

1 press my lips together, turning away, but Zoe, the little menace, is already staring between us as if she’s watching her favorite soap opera.

Jacob’s car screeches into the parking lot, and he practically flies out of the driver’s seat. His gaze flicks to me, then to Enoch, then back to me. His expression is unreadable, but he moves fast, right past me, straight to Zoe.

“Let’s go.” His voice is clipped.

Zoe frowns. “But-”

Jacob grabs her wrist. “Now”

“I was just-”

His palm slaps over her mouth mid–babble, and he starts dragging her toward the car to give us space.

Her muffled protests are nothing but squeaks as she kicks at his shin, eyes wide with shock. It’d be hilarious if I wasn’t seconds away from combusting.

Then it’s just us.

Enoch and me.