Chapter 47
Chapter 47
TARYN
Everything fucking hurts.
Like, everything.
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If I didn’t already feel like death warmed over, Enoch carrying me as though I am some fragile damsel would’ve been my last straw. But honestly? I don’t have the energy to argue.
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My body is a mess of bruises, my ribs feel like someone took a sledgehammer to them, and I’m pretty sure my ankle is just there for decoration at this point.
Still, I’m not entirely useless. I tighten my grip around his neck, ignoring the way my fingers tremble, and mutter, “You’re bleeding.”
Enoch doesn’t answer. His jaw is locked so tight I swear I hear his teeth creak. His face is a storm cloud of fury, those crimson eyes burning as he scans our surroundings as if he’s expecting an ambush at any second. He’s probably right.
Behind us, Kallias moves like a shadow–silent, lethal, and honestly a little terrifying. He’s quick with a knife, even quicker with his fists, and he doesn’t hesitate when he slits a guard’s throat so fast the guy doesn’t even get the chance to scream.
I should probably be unnerved by that. But after everything? The only thing I feel is grim satisfaction.
The air shifts as we burst through the dungeon’s exit, and–holy shit–fresh air.
It slams into me like a slap, crisp and cold and biting, and my lungs suck it in greedily. I didn’t realize how much I missed the sky until now. The forest stretches ahead, bathed in silver moonlight, the trees swaying in the wind like they’re whispering secrets.
We’re free.
For now.
A shiver wracks my body, but it’s not from the cold. Enoch must notice because his arms tighten around me, his warmth bleeding into my frozen skin. His scent is everywhere–woodsmoke and something wild, something him. It’s grounding. Comforting in a way I don’t want to unpack right now.
“Almost… safe,” he murmurs, his voice rough and barely strung together. He’s getting better with words, but it’s clear speaking in full sentences still takes effort.
Kallias pauses up ahead, scanning the path. “Coast is clear,” he mutters, but he doesn’t relax. None of us do.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears as Enoch strides forward, hie moves with a purpose yet still careful, treating me as if I might shatter if he’s not gentle. I hate that. I hate feeling weak. But I bite my tongue because I know if I open my mouth right now, it’s just going to be a whole lot of exhausted, delirious bitching.
Branches snap underfoot. Shadows shift between the trees. Every sound is a possible threat, every rustling leaf another reminder that we’re not out of this yet.
Then Enoch stops.
His entire body goes rigid, a low growl curling from his throat.
I feel it vibrate against my side, and I don’t know what the hell he senses, but his grip on me tightens almost painfi breathing slows, controlled and dangerous, and when he finally speaks, his voice is nothing more than a low, deadly promise.
lis
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Chapter 47
“No more… running.”
There’s something final about the way he says it. Though he’s made a decision neither Kallias nor I get a say in.
I want to argue. Tell him we need to run. That I’m not in the mood for some alpha male, “I’ll protect you” bullshit when I can barely keep my eyes open. But I swallow the words, because the look in his eyes?
He means it.
And I believe him.
A chill licks down my spine, something both terrifying and relieving. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Enoch, it’s that when he sets his mind to something?
Nothing no one–is going to stop him.
I wake up to the scent of clean linen and something distinctly… masculine. Earthy, like pine and smoke, with a trace of something darker underneath. Something that clings to my skin, sinking into the very marrow of my bones.
Enoch.
My eyes crack open, and there he is. Sitting in a chair by my bed, broad shoulders hunched, arms crossed over his chest, head tipped forward in exhausted defeat. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, like even in sleep, he’s still bracing for a fight.
It takes me a second to remember–being dragged back to the pack, Kallias standing there like a fucking statue while I bled out on the ground, Seraphina watching with that smug, self–satisfied expression. And then Enoch. Choosing me. Protecting
- me.
The air smells like home–faint lavender and old wood, the comforting scent of the packhouse that I never thought I’d miss. The blankets are soft, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth, and for a second, I forget where I am.
Then I shift, pain stabbing through every nerve, and oh yeah. Torture. Kidnapping. The fun little adventure that was the past few days.
A shadow moves beside me, and I turn my head–slowly, because my neck is apparently made of glass now.
Enoch.
He’s sitting there, elbows on his knees, watching me with a stare so intense it could melt steel. His face is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes–something dark. Something heavy.
My throat is dry as hell, but I manage to croak out, “You look like shit.”
His brows furrow like he’s trying to process the insult. Then he exhales through his nose, and–oh my god–was that a fucking laugh?
Okay, maybe more of a huff. But still. I’ll take it.
The moment is short–lived, though, because then his hand reaches forward, hesitant, almost unsure, before he brushes a strand of hair from my face. His fingers are rough, calloused, but he’s so gentle it makes my breath hitch.
Something about it–about him–makes my chest feel too tight.
I open my mouth, ready to say something stupid to break the tension, but he beats me to it.
“I’ll end this… for you.”
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05:54 Mon, 24 Mar
Chapter 47
His voice is barely a whisper, but it crashes over me like a wave.
I don’t know what he means. Not exactly. But there’s a look in his eyes that tells me whatever he’s planning? It’s going to be bloody
And honestly?
I think I’m okay with that.
Something tight lodges itself in my throat.
I move to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my ribs, stopping me cold. My breath hisses between my teeth. Enoch’s head snaps up instantly, sharp, predatory, eyes flicking over me like he’s assessing damage.
“You-“His voice is rough, thick from sleep. “Hurt?”
“No,” I lie. Badly.
His gaze narrows. He doesn’t call me out on it, but his hands are already reaching, brushing the blanket aside, checking my bandages. The rough pad of his thumb skates over my wrist where bruises bloom ugly and deep. His entire body stiffens.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Who?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He already knows.
His fingers twitch, like they want to break something. Or someone.
“Kallias?” His voice is softer this time, but laced with something deadly underneath.
I swallow, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”
Wrong thing to say.
His hand suddenly cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. There’s nothing soft about his grip. It’s not cruel, not meant to hurt, but firm. Unyielding. His eyes–those damn eyes–are molten, burning with an emotion I can’t quite name.
“It matters.” His voice is pure gravel, rasping over my skin like a promise. Or a threat.
I should tell him to stop. That he doesn’t need to get involved. But something in me–the stupid, reckless, self–destructive part–wants to see what he’d do if I didn’t stop him. If I just let him be exactly who I know he is beneath the fog of his memory loss.
A King.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
He must sense it, because his hold on my chin loosens, fingers sliding to the side of my neck, just resting there. His thumb skims the edge of my jaw.
His voice drops, softer this time. “You safe now.”
Safe.
The word cracks something inside me. A slow, bitter smile curls my lips. “Not for long.”
His brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because people like me don’t get to be safe, Enoch.” My voice is steady, despite the way my stomach twists. “We get used. Thrown away. Forgotten.”
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05:54 Mon, 24 Mar
Chapter 47
His eyes flash.
And then, before I can blink, he’s moving.
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The chair scrapes against the wooden floor as he pushes to his feet, looming over me. His presence is suffocating, a wall of heat and tension and barely–leashed violence.
“No,” he growls, the word vibrating deep in his chest. He shakes his head, pacing once before turning back to me, fists clenched at his sides. “No. Not you.”
I scoff, leaning back against the pillows. “And what are you going to do about it, huh?”
He stills.
A long silence stretches between us. His breathing is controlled, measured. But his hands… they shake. Just a little. Just enough for me to see it.
And then-
“I’ll end this,” he says.
Not a question. Not a plea. A promise.
His voice is razor–sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. There’s something final in the way he says it. Like a storm gathering on the horizon, inevitable and unstoppable.
A chill dances down my spine.
“Enoch,” I start, unsure what I’m even going to say. But his hand is already at my cheek again, fingers sliding into my hair, holding me still as his forehead presses against mine.
“Rest,” he whispers, voice thick with something I don’t want to name. “Sleep.”
And just like that, the fight drains out of me. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s the only thing keeping him from burning this whole place to the ground.
I let my eyes close.
But as I drift into sleep, his voice follows me.
Soft. Terrifying. Unbreakable.
“I’ll end this. Soon.”
