All Chapters of Nursing the Murderer Alpha King: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I stare straight into his eyes, with sheer determination lacing my voice. “No one.”I don’t miss the way his crimson eyes darken when I say it.Dante stares down at me, jaw ticking, and I swear I feel the pressure in my spine, like a fuckin’ blade running down it. He doesn’t move, nor does he blink. He simply stands there, stone-cold and fucking terrifying, watching me like I’m prey pretending to be clever.“You’re lying, wife.” His voice is a rasp—lethal, guttural, low. The kind of tone that makes your instincts scream to run. “And I told you . . . there’s no good in lying to me.”My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. I choke on the air.Then I roll my eyes, even with the shiver running down my spine. “You’ve known me for what, five minutes? Don’t start playing lie detector.”His stare sharpens even more. Now there’s no amusement. No grin. No teasing smirk.Just cutting silence.The man, Lucien, that bastard who brushed past me is already long gone, lost in the river of bus

The shower’s running and I’m stripped from head to toe. If I could burn those clothes, I would. He’s still humming, I can hear it through the loud showerhead in front of me, and I’m still fucking shaking. The warm water isn’t doing me favors at all.There’s blood dried under my nails when I scratched my cheeks off the dried, crusted blood when he cupped my face. When his fingers brushed my cheek like he was comforting me, not dragging me into hell.Red on my pajama top—right over my ribs. The stain smudged when he touched me. I don’t take long having to take a bath. I’ve changed into one of my silk pajamas after blow drying my hair. I can’t keep him waiting. I bet anyone wouldn’t want their husband waiting especially when they witness first hand what that said husband could do.I sit at the edge of the kitchen stool for five minutes now, in complete silence. I haven’t moved. Can’t. My legs are jelly, my head’s spinning. Dante has excused himself to take the bathroom now that I was

I regret everything.The lights are too bright, the air smells like fried dough and burnt rubber, and Dante—Dante is vibrating. Not visibly. Not like a chihuahua on meth. No. Internally. There’s something simmering under his skin, begging for a reason to crack open and let blood out.He’s walking too close—too damn close—shoulder brushing mine every other step, breathing through his nose as though he’s fucking hunting. Every man that looks my way gets an eye-fuck so vicious I feel secondhand pain. And we haven’t even hit the main strip yet.The crowd’s thick, chaotic. Music’s blaring from every direction—Eurotrash remixes, kids screaming, teenagers dry-humping on the tilt-a-whirl. And Dante’s beside me, sniffing the air, which he might just be trying to find which part of this place he wants to murder first.I clutch my phone tighter, my thumb swiping over the screen one more time.‘I need you to plant actors at the carnival. People Dante will believe. Old neighbors, fake friends, I d

“You okay, wife?” he asks, voice dark and scratchy as the calm before a storm.My body says yes.My brain is screaming no.I don’t answer.His hands grip the sides of the capsule. He tilts his head, watching me, a predator figuring out just how fast I’ll run. But I’m not running. My knees are still around his hips, and my dress is riding up my thighs as if it’s trying to get away from me too.We’re too close. The air’s hot. My skin's fucking burning.Oh Goddess, what the hell is happening to me?“Ah! A screech leaves my lips as he flips me.One second I’m on top, the next I’m flat on my back against the slightly sticky, curved plastic seat of this tiny-ass Ferris wheel capsule. And now he’s above me.His face is inches from mine. Both of us are breathing hard. Heavy. Our chests rising and falling like we’ve run miles, but all I’ve done is lie my way straight into this mess.“You’re not okay,” he says. “You’re trembling.”“I’m just . . . I’m just cold,” I lie through my teeth, looking

The wolf’s ears flick back. He growls again, jaw twitching as though he’s trying to bite air. His head shakes side to side, erratic.“You’re not his wife. You lied.”I swallow.He’s not wrong. How . . . how did he know is the question.“Look—I didn’t mean to—I just—”“Lies.”The wolf snarls and takes another step closer.I whimper. Yeah, fucking whimper.Because I know a predator when I see one, and this one? It wants blood.“You shouldn’t be near him. When the full moon rises, I won’t hold back. Not from you. Not from anyone.”The wolf steps back. He looks pained, it looks to me that Dante is fighting him inside, battling for control.And I . . . I do something profoundly fucking stupid.I reach out.“Don’t.” He growls and I internally flinch. The wolf’s voice snaps in my skull, a whipcrack of fury.But I do it anyway.My hand brushes the thick, coarse fur of his snout.He snarls. Loud and violent. But doesn’t bite.I lean forward.“Dante,” I whisper, “I know you’re in there. Come ba