Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King

APTER 123 I don't breathe.

I don't fucking breathe when I see that post.

My throat locks up like it's being gripped by iron fingers, and my heart plummets to my stomach so fast I swear I taste bile. The image is grainy, zoomed in, clearly from security footage or someone's phone. But it's me. My face. My hair. My goddamn freckles.

Right beneath it? $300,000,000 REWARD - ALIVE.

Alive.

Like that's a fucking mercy.

I shoot up from Seraphina's tiny white couch, nearly knocking over her untouched mug of chamomile tea, and stumble toward the hallway like my feet can outrun Enoch's fucking insanity. My breath's gone shallow, broken up by little gasps I can't control.

"Where are you going?" Seraphina's voice is laced with disbelief and rising irritation, but I don't answer. Can't. I stumble toward the bedroom and nearly rip the closet door off its hinges.

I hear Ser curse behind me, but I'm already grabbing the duffel I promised myself I wouldn't touch again. I start shoving clothes inside like a rabid raccoon-no folding, no planning, just get the fuck out, now, now, now.

Shirts. Underwear. Socks. I toss a pair of leggings in and-fuck, did I pack my camera? Where the hell is it? I grab my passport, the burner phone, the vitamins the Italian doctor gaveafter I sobbed through my first check-up. I toss them into the duffel so hard I knock over the fucking lamp on the nightstand. It crashes to the floor.

"Shit!" I freeze. One hand clutching my stomach. One hand on the zipper.

"God, I'm sorry, baby," I whisper, blinking through the tears that are building fast. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just-fuck-I can't-I can't let him find us. Not again." The sound of Ser's heels clacking down the hallway is getting closer. I yank the zipper and try to throw the strap over my shoulder, but my hand's trembling so hard the whole bag slides off and thuds against the floor.

Useless. I'm fucking useless.

"Taryn." "No, Ser-don't," I snap, turning to her. My chest's heaving, and I probably look like a stray dog cornered by animal control. Don't try to talkdown. You saw that post. He put a goddamn bounty onlike I'm sfucking fugitive." Ser crosses her arms, tight and unflinching, eyes calm and calculating like she isn't about to have a panic attack for me. * Yeah. I saw it. I also saw you almost rip your uterus out with that bag. Sit the fuck down before you faint." "I'm not-" "Sit." The tone in her voice slices throughsharper than Enoch's last fucking words.

I drop onto the edge of the bed like someone cut my strings. My knees bounce. My hands twist in my lap. My mouth tastes like metal.

She kneels down, grabs the duffel, zips it slowly, and sets it aside like she's neutralizing a bomb.

Then, Seraphina looksdead in the eye. "You need to stop running." I flinch. "What the hell else am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait until he kicks the door in and dragsback? I've seen what he does when he's angry, Ser. That man doesn't just destroy people-he burns everything." "And you think he won't find you again? Even if you fly to fucking Antarctica?" Her voice rises, not cruel but sharp enough to slapout of my spiral. "He's a Lycan King, Taryn. You think Google Maps is his only tool? He'll search every inch of this world, pregnant scent or not. Unless we make sure you're untraceable." I rub my palms over my face. They're sweaty. Cold. I can feel my baby kicking softly beneath my ribs, like a tiny plea. I shut my eyes. I can't run forever. Not like this.

"But I don't know how," I whisper. "I don't know how to hide from him." Ser's smile turns dangerous. It's the kind of smile that says someone's about to lose a fight-and it won't be us.

CHAPTER 123 She stands, pulls out her phone, and taps something. "Con. We've got an appointment. You wanna disappear? You're gonna need to lose that adorable little redhead look and those I'm-the-innocent-heroine eyes." I blink. "You're takingto a salon right now?" "Babe, you're a walking target with Disney Princess hair. You might as well wear a sign that says please abduct me, I'm fertile and emotionally damaged." I actually choke on a laugh. It's sharp, unexpected, and feels like it might splinter something inside me. But it breaks the fear, just a little.

"Fine," I mutter, dragging myself off the bed. "But if I end up looking like a Barbie stripper, I'm shaving my head bald." Ser smirks, already tossinga coat. "If we're doing this, we're going full send. Welcto your villain era, sweetheart." I sit in the black leather chair of what might be the bougiest fucking salon in all of Milan, wrapped in a silky robe that probably costs more than my rent. Ser knows a guy. Of course she knows a guy.

She talks rapid Italian to the stylist, her hands moving like she's casting a damn spell.

just sit limp, feeling the cold metal of the scissors against the back of my neck as he starts snipping off inches of my ginger hair.

Snip.

There goes Taryn from Riverstone.

Snip.

There goes the girl who tried to save a dying wolf in the woods.

Snip.

There goes the idiot who fell in love with the wrong fucking king.

My heart aches, but I stay quiet. He m bleachedfast. The chemicals burn like hell. My scalp is on fire. I deserve it. I watch chunks of red-gold fall to the floor like little pieces of the girl I used to be. When the bleach is washed out, they tone it into something... icy. Pale blonde. Like I was born in Sweden and named Astrid.

They cut my hair to my chin, givebangs, contour my face with makeup until I don't even recognize the girl in the mirror.

I look like someone else. Like someone who never got tangledhin a matebond Like someone who could lie without flinching. Someone Enoch would walk right past on the street. Ser leans over and studiesthrough the mirror. "You look like a high-end mistress with secrets and a sugar daddy." "I feel like a fucking corpse," I mutter.

"Perfect. That's the look."

She pats my shoulder and gestures for the stylist to bring over a bottle of what looks like perfume-but it's not. It's dense. Oily. Magic laced in synthetic werewolf chemistry. "Specialized scent masking," she explains. "Only used in rogue spy missions. Liam had it imported when I told him you were a walking heatwave with feet." I lift a brow. "That's comforting." She dousesin it, from the back of my neck to the insides of my wrists. It's strong. Bitter. Smells like pine needles and ozone.

"Will it work?" "No idea," she says cheerfully. "You're pregnant. You smell like vanilla sex and sweet milk right now. Kind of hard to cover. But we'll see." I rub my hands together and exhale. For the first tin days, I don't feel like I'm one step away from drowning.

Ser leans in and looksdead in the eye. "Three days. We train you to move different. Talk different. Think different. You' re not Taryn Sinclair anymore. You're Ivy fucking Moretti, half-Italian and allergic to bullshit. Got it?" I nod, biting my tongue. "Ivy Moretti."