Page 69 of Lycan Prey
“Given the significance of the event,” I continue, “and the longstanding ties between our packs, I will speak with the council, and they’ll speak with Alpha Jefferson to get the lift removed off the docks. He won’t hand those contracts back; I don’t blame him. So consider those contracts and deals as severed and now owned by Alpha Jefferson. But you’ll be allowed to operate. I’ll ensure you are granted grace for the debt repayment until after your wedding. This should give you ample time to resolve your internal issues and locate the thief, as well as give you enough time to sell the exports your company has in holding to someone new. Maybe if you locate his daughter, he’ll allow you to negotiate the initial contracts, but I won’t ask more of him. He paid the council for his part in that incident.”
“Really?” The word escapes him, laced with relief.
“Yes. Except make no mistake, Rhett. This is not a pardon, merely a postponement. The council will expect your due, in full, once the celebrations have concluded. Do not see this as an opportunity to slacken your efforts.”
“Of course, Soren. I am grateful for your… understanding.” The gratitude seems to claw at his throat on its way out.
“Good.” My gaze doesn’t falter as I fix him in place with a look that brooks no argument. “Then we are clear. Your debt will be settled, and the alliance can proceed without further hindrance.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, more to myself than to him, I prepare to disconnect the call, knowing full well that while today’s agreement might pause any pack wars for now. It’s the actions that follow that will decide if these two packs ever come to an alliance again.
Chapter 28
• Aubrey •
I stagger out of Damian’s car, wincing with each step as if I’m navigating a minefield in my trousers. The raw aftermath of my waxing session makes every movement feel like I’m rubbing sandpaper between my thighs—or what’s left of them. The castle looms ahead, its ancient stones suddenly mocking my very modern pain.
My pants chafe with every step, a cruel reminder of my now too-smooth situation. It’s like walking with two angry, hairless cats fighting in my underwear. With no protective buffer, every seam feels like it’s plotting against me.
Soren is waiting, his smile quickly turning to a puzzled frown as he watches me waddle up the drive. The confusion on his face morphs into shock as I approach, moving like a penguin.
“Having trouble there?” Soren calls out, trying to mask his concern with humor as he takes in my peculiar shuffle.
“You could say that,” I grunt, managing a glare in his direction. “Feels like I’ve just ridden a cactus bareback.”
His eyes widen in amused horror as I limp past him, my walk turning into a bizarre bow-legged shuffle. “What happened to you?”
I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk. Ignoring his question, I beeline for the kitchen, each step a reminder of theday’s atrocities. “Just a brief trip to hell and back. Thanks for asking!” I mutter under my breath.
“Why, what happened?”
“Let’s just say your mother introduced me to a waxing strip, and it took a liking to me—a lot,” I say through gritted teeth.
He chuckles, then winces sympathetically as I make a pained face. “Looks like you’re trying to smuggle a porcupine in your pants.”
“Not smuggling, the porcupine violated me!” I correct him with a pained smile.
Soren’s laughter rings out, a clear, joyful sound that, despite my discomfort, makes the corners of my mouth twitch upward. “I’d offer to carry you, but I fear the porcupines might object,” he teases, opening the door for me as we reach the kitchen.
“Very funny,” I mutter, heading straight for the freezer. I’m on a mission for anything cold, my new best friends being frozen peas or, ideally, an entire iceberg I can shove inside my pants to bring my core temperature down.
Inside the kitchen, I make a dive for the freezer, fishing out a bag of frozen peas. I press it against my tortured southern region, sighing in relief as the cold numbs the stinging. Soren follows, amusement written all over his face.
Soren snickers, clearly trying to imagine the scene. “It can’t be that bad.”
I give him a look that would burn him alive had I been born a witch. “I think my lips have been ripped off.”
His laughter fills the kitchen, and I can’t help but fantasize about smothering him with the pea bag. Instead, I storm off, walking like a cowboy who’s spent a week riding bareback to our room so I can remove these pants.
With my hands full of frozen peas and dignity nowhere to be found, I trudge up the stairs, praying for a miracle that will numb this pain. Soren’s laughter echoes behind me, only making me boil alongside my humiliation. “I’m sorry,” he says between fits of laughter, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yes, you will!” I snap at him.
Once in our room, I take a deep breath and brace myself, pulling the denim down my legs with a hiss.
Soren ventures into the room and perches at the side of the bed. He tries to stifle a grin but fails miserably as he takes in my predicament. “Do you need help with anything?”
