Semua Bab Nursing the Murderer Alpha King: Bab 31 - Bab 40

The door slams behind me.Cold air smacks my face and everything I’ve been holding in rips out of me. It’s as if my lungs finally decide they can breathe, but all it does is let the sobs through. My legs give out for a second. I grab the stone column by the door so I don’t collapse right here in front of everyone.I can still hear him. Even out here. That voice calling my name, over and over, like it’s carved into me now. My chest burns like I swallowed fire. He knew. I swear he fucking knew even as it was happening. That I let it happen. That it was me.And he still said my name.My hands cover my mouth, but it doesn’t do anything to muffle the ugly, loud, gasping sound that comes out. Tears blur the world. My nose is running. I wipe it with my sleeve, because what else is left to ruin tonight?Goddess, I did this.I stand there in that mess for—I don’t know—maybe ten seconds, maybe a whole year, before headlights cut across the front of the restaurant. A black car pulls up too fast,

My neck burns.It’s the first thing I feel before the rest of the pain crawls up from my spine like fire ants gnawing through my nerves. My throat is dry, my mouth tastes like metal, and my limbs—fuck. My limbs won’t move.I blink hard against the dark. There’s no light but only the moonshine pouring in from the cracked glass window, and I swear I can hear my own pulse echoing in the silence. I think I’m still at the house.I try to sit up.My left hand immediately jerks.But it doesn’t go anywhere.Panic swells in my chest, immediate and animal.What the hell?My gaze drops to my wrist. It’s . . . tied?Rough, thick rope—probably torn from the storage closet in the hallway—twists around my hand, knotted tightly against the bedpost. I try the other hand. Same. One foot. Same.Oh my god.No. No no no no no—It hits me all at once, crashing into my chest like a truck.The chase.The bite.The voice.He remembers.My pulse stutters. Cold sweat coats my back, and I pull against the restra

My lungs are on fire. The gravel that cut into my feet outside the house has turned into sharp sticks and pine needles now, the forest is swallowing me whole. Every breath is a wheeze, ragged, my chest aching from the sprint. The moonlight barely cuts through the canopy, everything around me a blur of trunks and shadows.I don’t stop. If I stop, he’ll catch me. If he catches me—fuck, no.Something snaps beneath me. A thick branch rolls under my bare foot and the pain rips through me before I even hit the ground. I bite back a scream, but a broken sound still escapes as my knees slam into the dirt. My palms sting. Warmth spills down my ankle.Shit. Shit. I tore something open.I claw my way to the base of a tree, pressing my hand against the gash on my leg, but the blood keeps sliding through my fingers, sticky and hot. The coppery smell is so sharp it makes my stomach turn. My eyes blur, not sure if from tears or the sting of dirt grinding into the cut.The forest is quiet except for

The zipper on my suitcase jams halfway through, like even it’s refusing to let me go. I yank it once, twice, and curse under my breath until it finally gives. My room looks like a bomb went off—scrubs, files, travel-sized toiletries, and one very confused five-year-old surrounded by toy cars on the rug.Daxton sits cross-legged, making crash sounds with his mouth, lost in his own world. There’s a chocolate smudge on his cheek. My heart squeezes so hard I almost forget to breathe.“Everything’s ready,” Luke calls from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He’s ditched the white coat for a hoodie and jeans, trying way too hard to look casual. The man is a walking anxiety attack in disguise.I nod, folding another shirt I probably won’t wear. “You double-checked the fridge? The milk’s in the second shelf, not the first. Don’t mix them up again or it’ll spoil.”Luke rolls his eyes. “Got it, boss. Milk on the second shelf. Pasta in the left cabinet. Veggies in the crisper. I swear

The cabin hums like it’s breathing. A steady, low vibration that crawls up my spine and won’t let go. Everyone else is asleep—rows of heads tilted, eyes shut, mouths slightly open. The air smells like recycled air and burnt coffee of the first class aisle, but all I can taste is him.Dante.He’s sitting beside me, the divider is now open, head tipped back, lashes dark against his skin. The scar near his temple catches the dim blue light, sharp enough to make my stomach twist. He looks peaceful—almost human—and it pisses me off that even like this, he’s beautiful.His hand hangs between the seats, fingers twitching against the armrest. That hand. I can still see it in flashes—blood slick between his knuckles, gripping my skin while his teeth bared and my name tore out of his mouth like a threat.That was five years ago.Now, it just lies there. Open and relaxed.My fingers twitch before I can stop them, like something in me is stupid enough to still be drawn to him. The pull is magneti