Page 22 of Lycan Prey
“Sorry,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can catch it. My cheeks flame with a mix of embarrassment and something else—an inexplicable pull toward this man who embodies both my deepest fears and unacknowledged desires.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, though it’s clear it’s not. My voice trembles, betraying my nervousness—a need to flee back to the safety of my grandmother’s house, yet also a longing to linger in the presence of the King before me.
“Max, come here,” King Soren commands again, softer this time, but no less insistent.
A pang of empathy twinges in my chest for the little prince. He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, so full of hope and longing. And there it is again, that pull toward the King, a yearning to be part of their world, if only for a fleeting moment.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the foolish thoughts. This isn’t some fairy tale; it’s real life, and I’m just a waitress with too many worries and not enough answers. Trying to hide from the very man standing in front of me I remind myself.
“Sorry,” slips from my lips once more, an apology to no one in particular—for my wandering thoughts, for the ache in my heart, for the secrets I keep locked away. It’s time to leave, time to escape the King’s magnetic presence before I get drawn into a world where I surely don’t belong.
“Please, Dad, please…” Max’s whisper-soft plea pulls at my heartstrings. His big eyes shimmer with a hope that I recognize all too well—the same kind that used to swell in my own chest on the rare occasions my father would promise a visit to the park.
“Please, please, please,” he continues.
King Soren takes a deep breath, and the rigid lines of his shoulders ease ever so slightly. His eyes flicker toward me, dark orbs swirling with a storm of frustration and affection that makes my pulse quicken. There’s a softness in the hard set of hisjaw when he looks at Max, a tenderness that pierces through the armor of royalty.
“Max, sweetheart,” I murmur, stealing one last glance at the boy who’s managed to sneak his way into my affections. “I really have to go.”
The door to the outside world beckons, a portal back to my reality—a reality that doesn’t include royal dilemmas or the piercing blue of King Soren’s eyes. A reality where the heartache of pack betrayal and the sting of abandonment are as familiar as breathing.
“Max, we’ve just talked about this,” King Soren says, his voice resolute but soft around the edges with a patience that only parents possess.
I can’t help but eavesdrop, the words tugging at me like the moon’s pull on the tide.
“You need to stay by my side when we’re in public places. It’s for your safety.” His tone is a tender command.
Max’s face falls. His lower lip trembles as he casts his gaze to the ground, his small frame deflating like a balloon losing air. It wrenches something inside me, that look of defeat in a child’s eyes, the loss of innocence to the harsh realities of their world.
I need to go home. I need to be the responsible one for once, not the girl who gets lost in a fantasy where Kings look at her with softness in their eyes. Where little princes see her as a playmate rather than a stranger.
Max’s hushed voice slices through the buzz of conversation, as thin as the sunlight filtering through the windows. “I know,” he whispers, his tiny form dwarfed by the chair he’s perched on. “I just…wanted to see Brielle.”
My gaze lingers on King Soren: the fatigue carved into his features, the way his broad shoulders sag ever so slightly. His hand rises, a brief gesture that belies a father’s worry, thumb and forefinger pressing against the bridge of his nose.
The atmosphere thickens, every second stretched thin, tugging at the threads of composure I desperately cling to. A longing to escape wars with the magnetic pull I feel toward him, a dangerous dance I never intended to join.
“Please, Dad.” His big puppy dog eyes, brimming with a child’s earnest hope, seem to magnify in their appeal as he gazes up at King Soren.
“We don’t have any idea who she is, Max—she’s a stranger,” King Soren responds, his tone threading the needle between calm and frustration. The words are measured, however they carry an undercurrent of fear that resonates within me. It echoes the trepidation I’ve felt since he walked into this ordinary place, turning my ordinary day on its head.
King Soren peers down at his son, his kingly posture unbending yet his eyes betraying a father’s internal conflict. “She’s not! She’s my friend!” Max protests, his stubbornness as solid as the castle walls that shield their private lives.
King Soren’s mouth sets into a stern line. The air thickens with tension, and I find myself holding my breath, unwilling to disrupt this delicate moment.
“Can I stay with you tomorrow, please, please, please?” Max pleads, his bright eyes brimming with hope as he stares at me and my eyes widen realizing he is asking me. “I don’t want to go back to training,” he adds, a soft note of desperation lacing his voice.
Flustered, I glance around the café, seeking an excuse from those imploring eyes. I’m trapped, caught between my growing affection for this boy who sees me as a friend and the need to get away from his father before he kills me for treason or some other reason.
“Max,” I start, but my voice is barely a whisper, drowned out by the clamor of my own racing heart. “Max, I have to gohome,” I murmur, the words barely escaping my lips as I crouch down to his level.
“Home?” His voice is a small echo of disappointment, but he quickly brightens, the resilience of youth shining through. “Well, maybe you can come over and play at my place?” A strand of hair falls into his face, and he brushes it aside with an innocence that squeezes my heart.
I sigh. “Maybe another time, Max,” I say softly, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. My chest tightens with guilt for the loneliness etched into his features.
“Sweetie, I need to go home and check on my grandma,” I murmur, the quiver in my voice betraying the turmoil beneath my calm exterior. Max’s bright eyes widen, a glimmer of understanding behind the innocence. Yet, he’s persistent, his next words tugging at the already frayed edges of my resolve.
“My daddy can drive you home! Then you can come home with us after you check on your Granny!” His eagerness is a punch to my gut; it stings. Isn’t there a friend, a playmate, for him somewhere?
