Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 37

Aubrey

Max’s laughter echoes up the street as he skips ahead of me, and it still rings in my ears as we reach the front porch of my house. He’s been teasing me relentlessly about my fall from the tree.

“I can’t wait to tell her,” he gushes with the unrestrained enthusiasm only a child can muster, barreling up the steps through the door ahead of me.

“Wait up, you little rascal,” I call out after him, but my words are light, devoid of any real scolding. A chuckle escapes me, shaking off the last remnants of embarrassment as I close the door behind us. The comforting familiarity of home wraps around me like a warm blanket–until it doesn’t.

I turn, nearly tripping over Max who has stopped and the atmosphere shifts palpably. Max stands rooted to the spot, his laughter extinguished like a candle snuffed out by an unseen force. His tiny body is rigid, a miniature statue carved from stone, his usual vibrance drained away in an instant.

“Bree?” His voice is a mere whimper now, a thread of sound barely weaving through the air between us. It weaves a knot in my stomach, tight and unforgiving.

“Max, what’s wrong?” A thunderous drumbeat reverberates inside my chest, each pounding rhythm echoing against the walls of my ribs as I cautiously approach him. Max’s face contorted from joy to fear, his eyes wide and unblinking as he

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at something ahead.

room. As I follow his line of sight, a sudden wave of terror washes over me. My eyes land on Granny’s still body, and my heart stops at the

very ground beneath me seems to waver, and in that instant, the

heart is almost deafening, its rhythm chaotic and panicked. The

tightens, gasping for air in rapid succession, as I dash frantically across the space to where Granny lies motionless. Her once comforting warmth is now replaced by a chilling pallor, drained away by death’s icy

phone!” I rasp at Max, my trembling hands hovering over her lifeless form, fearful to acknowledge what my heart already mourns. The floor beneath my feet feels cold and hard, making

under my breath, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck, praying for a pulse that refuses to greet me. Nothing. The

cracks, a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. He’s looking to me for answers,

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Chapter 37