Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 9

I continue the long drive to my grandmother’s with a full tank. After hours on the road, I finally arrive in the sleepy town. where my grandmother lives. As I pull up in front of the rundown house, I wonder if my grandmother will even remember me. It has been years since we last saw each other, back when I was just a child. What if she doesn’t want to see

me?

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I climb out of my car and walk toward the house. The paint is peeling, and the once–green lawn is overgrown with weeds. As I approach the front door, I feel a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. I know that seeking refuge with my grandmother is a long shot, but it’s the only chance I have to escape the nightmare I’ve been living in. With each step, I hope that my grandmother will recognize me and take me in, offering a safe haven from the betrayal that has left my world in tatters.

I quickly cover the car, placing hay bales in front of it and covering it over with a tarp. Once done, I take a deep breath. before stepping out of the gate and onto the street. My heart races with nerves as I walk up to her front door and knock.

I wait anxiously for what feels like an eternity, listening for any sounds of movement inside. Finally, I hear shuffling, and the door creaks open. My grandmother’s frail figure appears in the doorway, her once–sparkling eyes now clouded with age. She squints at me, and for a moment, I fear she won’t recognize me.

“Aubrey?” she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. “Ist

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Chapter 9

that you?”

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A wave of relief washes over me as I nod, tears pricking my eyes. “Yes, Grandma, it’s me,” I reply, my voice shaking.

doing here? Is everything okay?” Tears spill down my cheeks

to go,” I sob out as she ushers me inside and onto

worn floorboards that groan beneath my feet. The scent of dampness and

myself onto the worn–out sofa, its cushions dipping under my weight, and I can’t help but notice how everything in the room speaks of years gone by. My eyes, however, are fixed on the woman across from me. Granny’s

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this, dear,” she says, a smile playing weakly on her lips, not

hangs awkwardly in the space between us, and I feel a pang of something–guilt, maybe, or regret–that I

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here; not for her, not for myself. Granny’s

bones beneath the thin skin. “There’s no need to apologize, Grandma. I’m just glad I am here now so I can help you; it’s

comforting and heartbreaking. “You’ve got your own life, child,” she

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

hold

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 hadn’t realized I was craving until this

here. All rogues have to,” Granny’s voice is matter–of–fact, but it sends a jolt of fear through

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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

heavy with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem anxious,” she asks, her voice soft as a