Page 14 of Lycan Prey
“Who are you?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. Goosebumps instantly rise on my body as his aura washes over me.
“I-I’m just passing through,” I stutter, trying to pull away from him. But his hold only tightens, making it clear he has no intention of letting me go.
“Passing through? To where?” the man growls. “What brings you to our town?”
“I... I have family here,” I reply, hoping that will satisfy him and make him release me.
But the man doesn’t seem convinced.
He exchanges a look with his companions before turning back to me. “We don’t take kindly to outsiders here. What’s your name?”
I know my mate is looking for me, so I lie, giving him my sister's name instead. “My name is Brielle,” I lie, trying to keep my voice steady.
“What pack are you from?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine.
“I’m not part of any pack,” I reply cautiously, hoping he’ll believe me.
He narrows his eyes, and I can see his mind working, trying to decide whether to trust me. “You’ve trespassed on our territory,” he growls but the other men behind him are stepping closer and I feel the air in my lungs freeze.
“I didn’t mean to trespass,” I explain, my heart pounding in my chest. “I just came into town to get my grandmother’s medication.”
The man seems to consider my words, but the others in the group still crowd around me, their intimidating presence making it difficult to breathe. One of them, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, sneers at me. “You expect us to believe that? You just happened to wander into the king’s territory?”
Another man, this one with a shaved head and a silver hoop earring, chimes in. “Maybe she’s a spy for another pack, sent to gather intel.”
The one holding me shakes his head. “We need to know the name of the pack in this territory. Tell us.”
“I’m not from a pack. I don’t even know what pack I’ve stumbled into,” and I didn’t. As far as I knew, Grandma lived in no-man’s-land, rogue territory owned by the king but no packs reside here; she never mentioned one.
“This isn’t a traditional werewolf pack. You’re at Whispering Pines, you’re in the Lycan King’s kingdom, only those council approved are allowed here, no pack occupants, only the King’s pack,” he answers, still watching me closely.
“The King’s pack?” I ask, I didn’t realize he had a pack; I thought just the kingdom?
“Lycan pack, we may be different species but we still live in packs.”
That I didn’t know. To be honest I don’t know much about Lycan’s. Sure we were taught about them in school. Nothing much was ever said about them living in packs. It does make sense I guess, their species isn’t that far removed from ours. We are mutts compared to them—similar in some sense though, since werewolves muddied the blood of Lycans. I now recognize those patches on their uniforms, they are the same as the badges on the men in suits when I ran into Soren and Max in the city.
Suddenly, the man releases me, issuing a warning. “Make sure you go to the council and register your intent to stay. If you don’t, and we have to hunt you down, you won’t like the consequences.”
As the group disperses, I’m left standing in the alley, my heart still racing from the encounter. I realize staying in this town might not be as simple as I had hoped. I didn’t think the king’s men would monitor this town so heavily. I guess Grandma’s fear of the council is justified.
I make my way back to my grandmother’s house, the experience with the enforcers weighing heavily on my mind. I can’t shake the feeling that registering with the council will only draw more attention to me and put my grandmother in even greater danger.
With each step closer to home, my anxiety grows, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake by coming to this town.
• • •
I wake up early, unable to sleep once again, yet appreciating the early hour for once because I hope to speak with the café owner about the job I saw listed in the window. After getting ready and making sure my grandmother is settled in her favorite chair, I head out before the morning rush can hit.
As I enter the café, I’m immediately struck by its warm and inviting atmosphere. The walls are adorned with vintage posters and mismatched frames filled with photographs of happy customers. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills the air, making my stomach rumble. A soft melody plays in the background, and there’s a small stage in the corner, probably for live music during the evenings.
I approach the counter, where a friendly-looking woman with a kind smile and shoulder-length chestnut hair stands. Her eyes are a warm hazel, and she wears a simple apron over her floral dress.
“Hi, I’m Bree,” I say, opting for my nickname instead of saying Brielle, trying my best to sound confident. Using my sister’s name makes me feel like I’m violating her memory. “I saw the sign in the window about a job opening?”
The woman introduces herself, “Nice to meet you, Bree. I’m Marianne. So, you’re interested in the job?” she asks, looking me up and down.
I nod. “Yes, I am.”
