Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 95

Chapter 95 

Chapter 95 

There’s a second bouquet waiting for me this morning. 

11 

Dead. Again. Like someone plucked the petals straight out of a graveyard and thought, You know what? This’ll brighten her day. 

I squint at the shriveled mess dumped right outside my door. The flowers are even worse than the last ones–crunchy, blackened, curling like they’re trying to retreat into themselves. There’s a note tucked inside this time. 

“Matches your loyalty.” 

My laugh comes out flat. No humor. No real breath. Just air scraping past my teeth like it wants to be something louder, 

messier. 

I bend down, pick it up, and stare at the rotting stems for a few seconds longer than I should. I pocket the note before I can think too hard about how it actually fucking hurts. 

Because it does. 

Which pisses me off more than the bouquet. 

Phone’s already in my hand before I’m back inside. I call Zoe. 

She answers after one ring. “You still alive, corpse bride?” 

“I think Enoch’s trying to hex me. Second bouquet. This one’s got a fucking note.” 

“Jesus Christ,” she wheezes through the speaker. “Does it at least smell nice?” 

“It smells like pissed ex–boyfriend who can’t say what he actually means.” 

“Ugh. I swear, that man needs therapy. Like, several sessions a day. Electroshock, if possible.” 

I flop onto the edge of my bed, flinging the curtains shut because I feel like I’m being watched. Probably am. 

“Tell me something distracting,” I say, rubbing my temples. 

“Oh, you’re gonna love this. I overheard two guards talking about some underground werewolf fight club-” 

“…What?” 

“Alpha Combat Training,” she says, full gossip–mode. “Top–secret, no staff allowed, not even the guards can get close unless they’re part of it. Guess who’s gonna be there?” 

My heart slams once. Then twice. 

I don’t answer. 

“Your growly murder crush,” Zoe adds like she’s narrating a daytime soap. “Apparently, no one at the palace can keep up with him, so they’ve started flying in actual Alphas just to keep him from breaking all the training bots. Sounds like the world’s horniest deathmatch.” 

“You think they’re really fighting?” 

“You think they’re braiding friendship bracelets in there?” 

I’m already up, grabbing a jacket, not bothering with makeup or an actual plan. 

1/6 

Chapter 95 

Zoe’s voice trails behind me. “You’re insane. Fully unwell, I love it. Please don’t die.” 

The combat field is deep within the royal perimeter. Forest on all sides. Mist lingers low, thick enough to blur outlines but not thick enough to hide the heat. 

It smells like blood and dirt and sweat. 

Also power. 

The kind that buzzes along the back of your neck and makes your lungs feel too small. Every inch of my skin is prickling by the time I crawl under the old warding fence behind the clearing. I duck low, keeping to the trees. My breath fogs the air in front of me. 

Then I see it. 

Chaos. 

Dozens of wolves–some mid–shift, some shifting back–are beating the shit out of each other. Limbs snap. Regrow. Snarls rip through the clearing, teeth flashing in the sun as jaws clamp down on flesh. It’s… beautiful in the most unhinged, primal way. Like watching war ballet. 

And in the middle of it all? 

Him. 

Enoch. 

Blood on his chest. Hands. His throat. Some of it his, most of it not. His hair’s slicked back with sweat, his chest heaving as he throws some massive Alpha clean across the field like he weighs nothing. 

He’s not even trying. 

I know his face well enough by now. This isn’t him fighting hard. 

This is him… burning time.. 

Holy fuck. 

I blink–and get yanked backwards by the collar of my jacket. 

I spin, ready to elbow whoever’s behind me, but freeze when I see her. 

The Dowager Queen. 

Smiling like she caught me sneaking cookies, not breaking palace law. 

“You’re about as subtle as your grandfather was during his courting years,” she says. “Come on. Let’s watch.” 

She doesn’t give me a choice. She leads me out from the shadows and right into the open, where the air still smells like testosterone and death. 

I resist the urge to sink into the floor. 

“Grandson,” the Dowager calls, sharp and amused. “I think she should observe how kings are made, don’t you?” 

Enoch stops mid–movement. One foot pressing into some guy’s spine. His head turns. 

2/6 

11:15 Sat, 12 Apr 

Chapter 95 

And when his eyes lock onto mine- 

I forget how to breathe. 

100% 

(+83) 

He’s not shifted. Not all the way. His claws are still halfway there, teeth sharp, skin streaked with blood and mud. He doesn’t cover himself. 

He doesn’t flinch. 

“If she wants a show,” he growls, loud enough for the trees to shake, “give her a front–row seat.” 

The entire fucking training ground freezes. Half of them turn to look. The other half pretend not to. 

The Dowager lets out a faint, wheezy cough that probably saves my life, because Enoch doesn’t come any closer. He just watches. 

Stark naked. 

Fuming. 

Still so heartbreakingly beautiful it makes my chest ache. 

Fyck, if he’s this angry, he shouldn’t be this hot. 

I swallow. 

And then I clap. Once. Twice. Louder. 

“Ten out of ten,” I say, voice flat, fingers still slapping together. “Would watch again.” 

He doesn’t smile. 

But something flickers across his face. Something dark. 

And I know this isn’t over. 

Not even close. 

*** 

I don’t even know what to say. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the stone hallway. 

And I just stand there. 

Mouth slightly open. Bag slung off one shoulder. Heart somewhere near my ankles. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

I turn slowly, like maybe the universe will take it back if I just move at the speed of denial. 

But no. 

There it is. Right across from mine. Massive double doors, dark wood carved with the Imperial crest, like it’s laughing at me. Like it knows exactly how many walls I’m about to walk into face–first. 

The Lycan King’s room. 

His. Enoch’s. 

3/6 

อ 

100% 

Chapter 95 

Of all the goddamn rooms in this maze of a palace, they decide to put me in the one directly across from the walking emotional disaster I’m trying to forget. Or stab. Or kiss. Probably all three, depending on the hour. 

I should knock. I should demand a room change. I should flip the fuck out. 

+83) 

But instead… I laugh. Low and dry and bitter. I clutch the doorknob of my room, press my forehead against the cool wood, and laugh like someone who’s one petty war away from institutionalization. 

“Great,” I mutter to no one. “Fucking amazing. Top–tier hospitality, ten out of ten, would recommend. 

The lock clicks as I turn it. The door creaks open. 

The room is… big. Overkill, honestly. Bigger than my entire apartment in the city. Massive windows, a fireplace already crackling like it knows I’m about to spiral, and a bed that looks like it could fit six Lycans and still have room for my self- respect. 

I drop my bag with a thud. Walk straight to the window. Press my forehead against the glass. 

The courtyard below is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re being watched even when you know you’re not. 

Except I am being watched. 

Because I turn around, and there he is. 

Leaning in the doorway to his room. 

Enoch. 

No shirt. Just those damn sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, like gravity has a personal vendetta. His hair is still wet from the shower, dripping down his chest like a fucking thirst trap. 

And he’s staring. Not blinking. Not smirking. Just staring like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m real or if I’ve crawled out of his nightmares to haunt him. 

“Are you lost?” I say, crossing my arms and hating how my voice sounds winded. 

He tilts his head slightly. His eyes drag over me like they’re searching for hidden weapons or maybe my last shred of sanity. 

“You’re loud.” 

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?” 

“You were laughing. It echoed. Thought someone was dying.” 

“Oh, just my will to live,” I shoot back. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Something flickers across his face. Not a smile, exactly, but close. The ghost of one. 

He steps closer. Just a single step into the hallway. 

I move to the doorway of my room without thinking. My body goes tense, shoulders stiff. Fight or flight. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, because I can’t not. 

“I live here.” 

“Not what I meant.” 

4/6 

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Then he says, flatly. “Why are you still here, Taryn 

Because I’m an idiot. Because my heart’s apparently into masochism Because I will see that boy bleeding in the forest and it fucking wrecks me. 

But I don’t say any of that 

“I’m here to work. You don’t scare me, Your Majesty