Page 8 of Lycan Prey
“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Tears spill down my cheeks at seeing her familiar face.
“I have nowhere else to go,” I sob out as she ushers me inside and onto the couch.
I glance around the small living room with a sense of unease settling in my stomach. The house’s disrepair is evident in every corner, from the peeling wallpaper to the worn floorboards that groan beneath my feet. The scent of dampness and mildew fills the air, a constant reminder of the poverty and neglect my grandmother has endured for far too long.
I lower myself onto the worn-out sofa, its cushions dipping under my weight, everything in the room speaking of years gone by. My gaze, however, is fixed on the woman across from me. Granny’s slender fingers wrap around her inhaler with an intimate familiarity that tugs at my heart. She draws in a slow breath, and the soft hiss of the device is the only sound for a brief moment.
She exhales heavily, her chest rattling like the old windows when the wind gets fierce. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, dear.” She smiles weakly, the smile not quite reaching the worry etched in the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.
The apology hangs awkwardly in the space between us, and I push a pang of something—guilt, maybe, or regret—down deep inside. There’s no room for pity here; not for her, not for myself. Granny’s always had a steel backbone, even now as age seeks to bend her.
I gently take her hand, feeling the frailty of her bones beneath the thin skin. “There’s no need to apologize, Grandma. I’m just glad I’m here now so I can help you; it’s me who should be apologizing for not noticing you needed help here.” I squeeze her hand.
She shakes her head, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and pats my hand with a tenderness that is both comforting and heartbreaking. “You’ve got your own life, child.”
There’s no censure in her voice, just the quiet resignation of someone who has learned to rely on themself alone.
“Would you like me to get you anything?” I ask, eager to be of use, to do something—anything—that might ease the lines of fatigue etched into her face. She pauses, considering, then shakes her head once more.
“And you’re sure I can stay here?” The question slips out, laced with a hint of desperation. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, acutely aware if she says no I have nowhere else to go.
“Of course, dear,” she replies, her voice firm despite the weariness I hear behind it. “This is your home, too.” Her words wrap around me, offering a semblance of safety I didn’t realize I was craving until this very moment.
“But you’ll have to register with the council here. All rogues have to.” Granny’s voice is matter-of-fact, but it sends a jolt of fear through me.
“Register?” The word tastes like poison on my tongue. That would lead Rhett right to this doorstep. My pulse quickens at the thought. I bite my lip, casting a glance around the small, cozy living room, taking in the faded wallpaper and the comforting scent of Granny’s lavender sachets. How can I leave her now, after seeing the frailness in her eyes? No, I won’t be like my mother; I refuse to abandon her. Some luck, just a sliver of it, might keep me hidden here in plain sight.
Granny watches me, her gaze heavy with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem anxious.”
I muster what strength I have left and paint a smile on my face. “I’m fine, just tired from the drive,” I lie. The sting of being rejected by my fated mate—it’s a rare shame, one which might make Granny think less of me, or worse, believe I’m broken in some fundamental way.
She studies me for a moment longer, her eyes sharp as if she’s peering into my soul. But then, mercifully, she lets it go and shifts the conversation. “How are things going with your life, Aubrey?”
The mention of my life—of him—tightens something in my chest. I swallow hard, struggling to keep my composure. “Ah, I’m fine, Granny... I—” The sound of a knock cuts through the room, slicing off my words. I’m on my feet before I know it. My attention darts to the door, and Grandma must sense I’m in trouble because she points to the linen cupboard.
Another knock, louder, more insistent. Granny’s eyes lock with mine, and there’s an unspoken understanding between us. She points once more at the linen cupboard and I nod, rushing toward it as she whispers urgently, “It has a false wall, and pass me the air freshener.”
I grab the canister next to the old box TV and hand it to her before diving into the cupboard. Behind me, the knocking grows more aggressive. I shut the door quietly, the darkness enveloping me like a cloak. My hands fumble along the wall until they find the outline of the concealed panel.
“Hold on, hold on! My knees aren’t what they used to be!” Granny’s voice carries through the door, tinged with a hint of exasperation. I hear the hiss of the air freshener as she sprays, perhaps to mask any scent of mine that lingers in the air.
“Ma’am, you need to open this door!” The voice is unmistakably Nathan’s, edged with a sternness that sends atremor through me. Memories flash—his hands gripping my arms in the elevator, the fury in his gaze as I escaped. A surge of satisfaction fills me; I did get the better of him, after all.
My fingers tremble slightly as I pry the rear wall open, the hidden latch giving way with a soft click that sounds deafeningly loud in the silence. I slip inside the narrow space, the musty smell of disuse filling my nostrils. I suppress a shudder as cobwebs brush against my skin, sticky.
I pull the panel shut behind me, enveloping myself in near-total darkness. My breath comes in shallow gasps. I force calm upon myself. As my eyes adjust, shapes begin to form from the shadows, and I see the faint glow of light seeping through from Granny’s room.
Each rapid beat of my heart is a reminder of the danger just beyond these walls if they catch me.
Granny’s indignant voice pierces the tense silence, a sharp contrast to the muffled thuds of boots on her worn carpet. “Geez, waking an old lady up in the middle of the night, what is this about?” Her tone is layered with annoyance and the kind of feisty spirit not even age can diminish.
From my cramped hiding place, I can’t see, but I imagine her standing there, clad in her nightgown, wielding nothing but righteous anger against intruders. The footsteps grow louder, more purposeful, as they step into Granny’s living room.
“Excuse me, how dare you just walk in here like you own the joint, and on whose authority?!”
“Alpha Rhett’s, ma’am. His Luna has gone missing, and his mother-in-law said she never went home—that she probably came here,” comes Nathan’s reply, tinged with a patience that doesn’t quite reach the edge in his voice.
I press myself tighter against the wall, willing my racing heart to be silent as the search continues. Granny doesn’t falter, her voice steady as she challenges the intrusion. “Sir, pleaseclarify exactly who you are looking for, I live by myself. There must be some mistake!”
