Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 11

With a fluid motion, she holds the card over the flame. It catches fire, curling at the edges as it turns black and disintegrates into ash. She drops the remnants into an old ashtray and coughs–a deep, rattling sound.

She settles herself back into her worn armchair, the one that’s always been too big for her petite frame. “I could slap your mother for sending them here. What was she thinking, selling out her own daughter?” Her words are a whisper as she shakes her head.

“Could you make me a cup of tea, dear? Then we’ll chat and see what we can do about this mate situation. Have you rejected him?” Granny asks, peering at me over the rim of her glasses, her gaze piercing despite the frailty of her body.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice just yet, and turn towards the kitchen. The kettle seems to take an eternity to boil, the sound filling the silence between us. I prepare the tea -the way she used to like it, strong and with a spoonful of honey–and return to lean against the doorway, watching as she sips the hot liquid, letting it soothe her throat.

“Thank you for not giving me up,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper. Gratitude warms me, but it’s chased by a cold current of fear at what might have happened had they found me.

Granny waves off my thanks with a dismissive hand. “I would never! If I were 20 years younger, I would have attacked his ass if I could still shift.” There’s a spark in her eyes, a fleeting

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wolf she once was.

our situation settling heavy on my shoulders. “Speaking of shifting, please tell me you have suppressants for the full moon?” she asks, I bite my lip and

years evident in the sound. “We’ll work it out, your grandfather used to use the old cellar in the barn, we’ll chain you down if needed,” she tells me, her tone matter–of–fact. I chuckle, though there’s little

into our wolf forms, which is not only dangerous for women, but for everyone. We are naturally more animalistic and unpredictable. Yet for women more so, full moons always force a heat, so any male that stumbles across us is a risk. But since I am of Alpha blood, the male wolves don’t scare me. More so, it’s the bloodbath I’d need to clean up afterward. Our instincts go into overdrive, we want to hunt, to kill, and mate. So,

good news,” Granny finally says, her voice steady despite the worry etching

more than just the chill in

swirling within me. Guilt, because I can see the gears turning in Granny’s mind, calculating

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memories. “The heat makes us targets. But you, child, with your Alpha blood…” She trails off, leaving the unsaid words hanging

of the male wolves; their posturing and howls do not intimidate me. What I fear is the carnage that might follow my transformation. The overwhelming desire to hunt, to kill, and mating can turn