Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 64

“We were just waking up to come get you,” Soren states quickly, ruffling his hair as if to feign sleepiness. Max’s eyes narrow suspiciously at his father before rushing back out the door leaving it wide open behind him.

“Quick, you head down, and we’ll be down for breakfast in a minute.” Max rushes back out the door, leaving the door wide open, and Soren sighs, moving to shut the door when we hear Max’s high–pitched voice call out to his grandmother.

“They’re awake, grandma. They were giving each other cooties!” I groan, bringing the pillow over my face, wanting the bed to open up and swallow me so I don’t have to face his parents. Soren snickers, shutting the door.

“Seems we were being checked up on,” Soren states casually, but I can hear the hint of amusement in his voice. “We are going to be busted for lying,” I tell him as he moves towards his walk–in closet.

“Doubtful, knowing my mother. She’ll be too excited about planning our wedding to notice anything odd between us. So get dressed before she comes barging in here,” he tells me, his tone filled with lightheartedness.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Especially if she goes to all the trouble of planning everything. It will be a waste of her time,” I

respond, my voice tinged with concern.

Soren pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment before responding.

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Chapter 64

1 288 Vouchers

will buy me more time to get over the supposed heartbreak,” he laughs. Yet I don’t because I know the only one who will

barely a whisper. The words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth of our shared past, of the pain we’ve both

we’ll see when we get there,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. His voice is steady, resolute, but I can see the cracks in his facade, the vulnerability hidden beneath his bravado. And I know that when the time comes, when we’re forced to face the consequences of our actions, it’s not just

says nothing and I know that is what he is mostly worried about. I pull the sheets tighter around me, my chest aching at his words. The raw truth of them stings me deeper than I care to

runs a hand through his unruly hair. He looks effortlessly handsome in the morning light, which only

one of his shirts. It’s

head, the soft fabric clinging to my body

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