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FOURTY-EIGHT: Good Girl
Last Updated:
2025-10-25 00:00:01
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Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FIFTY-TWO: Serena
Bang.Bang.Bang.The sound tears me straight out of sleep. This house feels shitty than my old apartment. What the hell is that?My heart slams against my ribs. For one stupid second, I'm rammed back to years ago when he would lose control of his wolf dead int he night. I think it’s him—think Dante’s wolf has surfaced and is tearing through the house again. I shoot upright, sweat cold on my back. My throat’s dry, my pulse an explosion in my ears.Then—another crash. Something shatters.“Fuck.” I throw the blanket off and stumble out of bed. My feet hit cold marble. The air smells faintly of cedar and smoke. I’m half-blind with panic as I grab my robe and swing the door open.Voices echo down the hall. Dangerously low for me, if I say so myself. That’s not a sound you would want to hear in a place as this.I sprint barefoot toward them, the hem of my robe catching my knees. The servants are all gathered in the foyer, lined up as terrified statues. One is shaking so hard she drops the
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FIFTY-ONE: Leaving
The door shuts behind me with a sound that doesn’t echo—it’s too thick for that.The air in this place feels . . . staged. It’s as if someone tried to build a home from the memory of one. I look around. This place doesn’t really scream as if it’s someone not from the human race. The marble floors swallow my footsteps, the walls gleam with too much polish, and even the scent—faint citrus mixed with antiseptic—smells rehearsed.Are the servants here all werewolves too? Is Dante not really afraid?Rafe said they sent their Alpha away because of the amnesia. But I think a part of it was also that they can’t let the pack know that their strong King has fallen short and lost his memories.A servant, or perhaps an Omega in black and gray bows slightly before gliding past, her shoes making no sound. Another man carries one of my boxes as if it’s contaminated. Their faces are masks—polite, efficient, and like their boss, cold.And here I am, clutching my bag in both hands, standing in a mansion
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FIFTY: My Boyfriend
His shadow stretches long across the doorway before his body does.For a second, my brain blanks.I forget to breathe. Forget to move. The only thing I remember is the way his eyes look when he’s about to kill someone and I know that look al too well. And that’s the exact look he’s giving me now.“Dante.” My voice cracks around his name.He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, hands in his pockets like he owns the fucking place — which, technically, he does now. His gaze flicks to the phone in my hand, the dark screen reflecting both of us: me, pale as a ghost, and him, beautiful and furious in the quietest way possible.He tilts his head slightly. “That sounded . . . intimate.”His tone is soft. Too soft. The kind that doesn’t need to raise volume to be terrifying.My pulse stumbles. “What—what do you mean?”He steps forward, and I instinctively step back. My spine hits the doorframe. His scent hits next — cedar and smoke and something darker that crawls under my skin.“The call,” he s
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FOURTY-NINE: Moving
Hell. No.The second those words leave his smug-ass mouth—“Welcome home, Doctor”—I know I’ve officially reached the seventh layer of hell. And Dante’s the devil lounging at the bottom with a glass of scotch and that stupid fucking smirk.I snatch the contract off the table and storm out of the office before I accidentally stab him with the pen I’m still holding.He hisses and I roll my eyes at him before turning to the guards. “I can get back to my quarters, thank you.” I murmur.I’m going back to my apartment, damn it.Cohabitate. With him.As in, breathe the same air again. Sleep under the same roof again Possibly die in my sleep if he decides I look “edible” again.Yeah, no thanks. I’ve gone through that hell before and I am not doing it again.The elevator ride down feels suffocating. My reflection on the steel doors looks like a woman moments away from committing tax fraud just to afford a one-way flight to anywhere else. My hair’s a mess, my hands are shaking, and my chest feels
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FOURTY-EIGHT: Good Girl
The silence after I said I’ll agree feels as though the air itself forgets how to breathe.Dante’s hand is still braced against the desk, veins tense beneath his skin, eyes locked on mine like I just agreed to sell him my soul instead of signing a contract.Maybe I did.The assistant, unfortunately, the same one I had seen him mooching off when I first came into his office—tall, pretty, legs-for-days—recovers first. “That’s wonderful news, Dr. Eris. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up right away.”Her voice is too smooth and far too practiced, too damn interested when she glances at Dante for approval.He doesn’t look at her now does he even blink. His eyes stay on me, dark and unreadable, as if he’s dissecting my pulse beat by beat.I swallow. “So, uh . . . just a standard contract, right?”My voice comes out thinner than I like.He finally leans back in his chair, the motion lazy and predatory. “You really think anything involving me is ever standard?”A humorless laugh escapes me. “Yea
Nursing the Murderer Alpha King FOURTY-SEVEN: I'll Take This Project
It’s about to be midnight and I’m still in the hospital. The smell of antiseptic still clings to my skin.No matter how many times I wash my hands, I swear I can still feel his blood on them.The fluorescent light above me buzzes, flickering once—twice—like it’s just as exhausted as I am. I’m sitting on the edge of the hospital cot, staring at the medical chart in my hands that I’ve been pretending to read for the last ten minutes. My mind’s not here. It’s still in that room, with his voice, his stare, the weight of everything he said.“Don’t run away every time I lose control, Eris.”The memory of that line makes my chest tighten all over again. I wish I could say I didn’t want to. But the truth would be different. I want to run so damn bad my legs are already halfway there.I exhale, shove the chart back onto the table, and grab my bag. I need air. Space. Maybe a few hours without those crimson eyes following me like a spotlight.I get out of the office and out the door. “Ah!” My he
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