Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 23

Aubrey

The clock above the cafe door ticks away, a relentless reminder of the time slipping through my fingers. Each passing minute ratchets up the tension coiling in my stomach, an uneasy dance between nervousness and anticipation. I can’t help but steal glances at King Soren and his son, Max, as I deliver steaming cups of coffee to other patrons.

“Everything alright, Brielle?” Marianne asks, her brow furrowed with concern. I force a smile, my hand trembling ever so slightly as I set down a plate.

“Yeah, just… ready for the day to be over,” I admit, my gaze flickering back to the regal figures occupying a corner booth. The sight of King Soren, so powerful yet tender with his child, sends a shiver down my spine—an intoxicating blend of fear and attraction that I’m not sure what to do with.

The café’s usual hum of chatter fades to a dull roar as my pulse quickens. I can sense King Soren’s eyes on me, heavy with an intensity that belies the casual setting. With every passing second, my skin prickles with awareness, and I find myself fumbling slightly with the coffee cups, my nervousness mirrored in the clatter of porcelain.

When my shift is a few minutes from over, my fingers fumble slightly as I untie the apron, the fabric suddenly feeling like chains that bind me to this place. Hanging it up with a practiced swing, I turn to Marianne, who’s busy tallying the day’s receipts. “Hey, I’m on for the morning shift tomorrow,

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but inside, I’m a storm of nerves knowing the king hasn’t left

Marianne replies without looking up, her brows

an unfamiliar flutter through my chest, an attraction mingled with apprehension. With each tick of the clock, I become more desperate to escape to

the door when a tiny pressure against my leg halts me mid–stride. Looking down, my heart squeezes at the sight of Max, his large eyes shimmering pools of

untouched by the harshness of pack politics. Despite my own turmoil, I can’t help but be drawn into his little world, a momentary respite

feels like an eclipse over my own petite form. He looms large, not just in stature but in presence–a

just his command that unnerves me; it’s the way my heart stutters at the

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a moment, I am entranced by the contrast the hard lines of

me twists. There, in the depths of his stormy eyes, I glimpse a father’s love so fierce it could move mountains or tear down

I whisper, the word slipping out before I can catch it. My cheeks flame with a mix of embarrassment and something else—an

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

to my grandmother, waiting at home, her health fragile like the last autumn leaf clinging to a branch. I need to

Soren commands again, softer this time, but no

innocent eyes, so full of hope and longing. And there it is again,