Semua Bab Nursing the Murderer Alpha King: Bab 61 - Bab 70

“Does it scare you?”The words don’t echo. They don’t need to. The room is already tight enough, stone walls pressing in, iron biting into the air. I don’t answer. I don’t turn around. My fingers are still curled into the torn canvas, knuckles white, nails bent backward against the frame.My lungs forget how to work.“Yes,” I say finally, because lying feels stupid when he’s this close. “Everything about this place does.”Silence.Then a sound—fabric shifting. A step backward. Space returns in inches, not relief.“This is where they keep me,” Dante says.I swallow. My throat clicks. “Keep you.”“When it starts.”My jaw tightens. I repeat it before I can stop myself. “When what starts?”“The curse.”The word lands wrong. Too plain. Too small for a room like this.I let go of the painting. The cloth drops back into place, hiding the scratches beneath it like a lie patched too late. I turn slowly, because fast feels dangerous.Dante stands near the wall, one hand braced against the iron

Snow cracks under my boots as I step out of the airport terminal in Moscow. The cold slaps my face instantly, sharp enough to sting my eyes. My fingers tighten around the strap of the worn duffel bag Judith gave me. The air tastes like metal and smoke—everyone rushing past, bundled in dark jackets, hats pulled low, no one looking twice at me.Good. I need that. I need to vanish inside a crowd.The drive to the airport is a blur of headlights and the cold slap of night air through the cracked window. My heart thuds with every twist of the road. My baby sleeps through all of it, warm and unaware against me. Judith keeps glancing at the rearview mirror like something might crawl out of the dark behind us.Maybe it would’ve, if she waited ten minutes more.At the private bay, she hugs me so tight I feel her shaking. Judith never shows fear.But tonight, her voice breaks.“This is the last time, Lilith,” she whispers. “If I don’t go back to Seattle immediately, they’ll tear apart my life t

The walk to the car feels longer than it should.Not distance-wise. Just . . . time stretching. As if every step is a bad idea and my body keeps taking them anyway.The parking lot is half-empty. Asphalt still warm under my sandals. Fireworks crack in the distance—somewhere behind the carnival tents—brief bursts of light reflected on car windows. Laughter carries. Music. Life. Normal shit happening while my chest feels like it’s being slowly cinched shut with wire.Dante opens the passenger door for me.Polite. Calm. Deadly.“Careful,” he says, hand hovering near my elbow like he might actually catch me if I fall.I don’t look at him. I slide into the seat and pull the door closed myself. The sound is too loud in the quiet. Too final.He gets in on his side, shuts his door, and starts the engine.The car hums to life. Smooth. Expensive-sounding. Everything about him is controlled—how he adjusts the mirror, how he checks his blind spot, how his hands rest on the steering wheel like it

He takes one step into the room.Then another.Each one is unhurried. Controlled. Like he knows I’m not going anywhere.“Eris,” he says. “I asked you a question.”I force my shoulders to relax. Keep my hands still. I’ve learned the hard way that sudden movements make him watch you closer.“It was a work call.”He studies my face. Not my eyes—my mouth, my hands, the way my weight shifts on my feet.“Work,” he repeats.I nod. “Something came up.”He’s close enough now that I can smell him. Soap. Heat. That underlying metallic note that never quite goes away.His gaze drops to the phone in my hand.“It sounded personal.”My jaw tightens. “You were eavesdropping?”“I was walking past.” He tilts his head. “You said you love him.”The words land like a slap.I inhale slowly. “He’s… family.”A lie. A half-truth. Something in between.His eyes flicker.“Funny,” he says quietly. “You never say that to me.”I don’t respond. “That’s cause we’re not. You’re my client. That’s all we’re ever gonna

The wheels hit the runway with a hard jolt, and the cabin exhales around me. The seatbelt sign clicks off. People stand immediately, crowding the aisle, dragging bags out of overhead bins like their lives depend on it.I don’t look at Dante.I don’t give him anything.I grab my bag, shrug my coat on, and stand the second there’s room. My body is already moving, already gone. My head is not here. It’s in a hospital room three thousand miles away, with white walls and bad lighting and a child who looked too small for the bed he was lying in.Daxton’s face flashes behind my eyes. My son being pale. Lips a little too dry. The way his fingers kept curling into the blanket on the video call, as though he was holding onto something that wasn’t there.Lucas saying, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong, Eris. I swear I’m doing everything right.’ before the call ended.Dante is behind me. I can feel him without looking. Too close. Too calm. It’s as if he isn’t bothered by the fact that I didn’t ask him t