Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 68

Yet before I beat my brother, my Mother’s voice grows closer, laced with authority and the saccharine sweetness reserved for wedding talk. “Has anyone seen Soren?” she asks one of the passing staff. She dives into a conversation with them about the wedding, her words clawing at the air, reaching out for me.

“God knows who she’s enlisted now,” I mutter under my breath.

“Have fun,” Damian’s laughter needles at my back. The desire to turn around and wipe that smug look off his face is almost overwhelming–but I know better. I dart away, leaving him

behind.

I race towards the staircase, each step taking me further from the dreaded wedding plans. My mother’s voice swells, tugging at the edges of my sanity. “…and the linens, they simply must match the drapery!”

Panic, sharp and acrid, fills my throat. She’s getting closer, probably armed with fabric samples and more scratch and sniff floral catalogs, where she got those overnight is beyond me. I bolt for the stairs, skipping two at a time, praying for a few moments of peace. The cool relief of escape washes over me briefly–until Damian’s traitorous timbre reaches my ears

once more.

“I just saw him head upstairs, Mother. He told me to tell you he was getting some more catalogs, he has an idea for the reception.” His words drip with feigned innocence. I’m going

0.00%

||| O <

Chapter 68

1 288 Vouchers

and hang him

shelves lined with sheets and towels–a linen closet. No time to curse my luck; another

find me, not now when every fiber of my being screams to keep running. There’s only one place left which

cage, and press my back to its solid

walking…” I whisper to the empty air, to the walls, to any deity that might be listening. They aren’t fucking

and betraying, slices through the silence. “I think I saw him

know too well. He might

from losing my sense of smell. With panic nipping

running, mom won’t walk in on her showering, but I bloody damn will to escape

O O

|||

O

<

Chapter 68

288 Vouchers

of my chest. The shower tiles are slick beneath my feet as I nearly slide

I blurt like

hand lands over her mouth, silencing her mid–scream. I shut the shower door, ignoring the way the water lashes at

barely audible above the drumming of water on the tile.

a spring wound too tight, ready to snap. “If she asks, I am not here!” I