Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 39

“Max,” I finally murmur.

He squeezes my hand tighter, seeking reassurance from the one who should give it, but finds none. “I mindlinked my Dad. He is on his way,” he tells me, his innocence a stark contrast to the weight of my sorrow. His words pierce through the haze- his father, the king, coming to collect his son, he’ll be furious that I dragged Max here, pulled him into my drama.

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill. Not here, not in front of Max. I blink them back fiercely, refusing to show

weakness.

“Let’s wait outside for him.” I tell Max.

The chill of the night air bites at my skin as I push through the hospital’s double doors. The parking lot is a desolate expanse under the harsh glow of street lamps. My gaze catches on the payphone by the curb. I settle Max on the bench and make my way over to the payphone.

I stumble toward it, my fingers fumbling with the cold coins from my jacket pocket. They clink into the slot, one by one. I punch in the numbers, digits engraved into memory yet haven’t been used since they cast me out.

“Hello?” Her voice, distant yet familiar, crackles through the line.

The receiver trembles in my grasp, a lifeline fraying with every heartbeat. Silence stretches between us, the unsaid filling the

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silent streams. I can’t form the words. Can’t stitch together the syllables to tell her that Granny, the woman who raised her, gave her life is dead. I slam the phone down before she can break the silence with

I did until I heard her voice, unperturbed, her day not yet ruined like mine

spiraling thoughts. I whirl around, nearly losing my footing, and my heart lurches up into my throat.

stands there, his towering presence unexpectedly close. Moonlight dances off his dark hair, giving him an otherworldly aura. His eyes search mine, heavy with a concern that feels too intimate, too personal for an acquaintance.

relief edging into my tone. I should be alone; I want to be alone.

Bree?” he asks, the timbre of his voice wrapping around me like a

head, my lip quivering as I attempt to build walls around my grief. “No,” I admit,

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side as I gesture toward the boy. “Oh right, you’re here for Max,” I mutter, my voice

glass doors and a stern–looking security guard, his small frame almost swallowed up by the vastness of the sterile environment. The sight stings–I shouldn’t have brought him here. That was wrong of me. He didn’t need

but I couldn’t leave him at the house. Everything happened so

steps forward, blocking my view with his imposing figure, and suddenly

says, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the