Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 74

“I thought you were watching Max?” my mother inquires, and my father freezes, about to pour his gravy.

“I was. We were in the playroom,” he says, drowning his dinner in the thick gravy.

“And you watched him by yourself?” she asks.

“Yes, Soren was… on… on a very important phone call, love.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You know how busy he is,” he shrugs, setting the gravy down.

“I told you to bring Max; at least someone would have watched him if you had come,” my mother snaps.

“I told you I was watching the boy. Ask him. We were in the playroom,” he motions to Max, who shrinks in his seat.

“Well, you

couldn’t have been watching him too well!” my mother quips, turning her attention to Max. “Max, darling, what was dear Grandpa doing while you played by yourself?” my mother asks.

“Catching flies!” Max says, then imitates my father sleeping with his mouth open and snoring.

“Is that right?” my mother asks. My father cuts him a glare.

“You little traitor, you gave me away.”

“No, Alaric. You gave yourself away by not checking a mirror before coming down here,” she tells him. He looks at her

O

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stainless–steel surface as a mirror, and

my caramel and custard tart I made.” She huffs, and my father folds his arms across his chest, pouting like a child. She taps his plate with her fork before cutting off a piece of chicken.

up, dear,” she tells him, taking a bite of her chicken. We eat in silence, barely keeping up casual talk, when

for dinner, son.” my mother says. Damian grabs

Pa?” he asks, glancing at my

He is sulking about dessert.” my mother

for dessert?”

tells him and Damian snickers, knowing it’s my father’s favorite.

the coveted caramel custard tart,” Damian teases, his eyes flashing with mischief. He chuckles to himself, then, noticing my father’s sour face,

about ‘disloyal offspring‘ and continues eating his dinner. Bree tries

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a fit of giggles, her shoulders shaking as

seems genuinely interested. She asks my mother about upcoming events, and I’m pleased to see that she is trying to fit in. It’s not easy for her; I know that much, but she’s making

tart – the situation gets more awkward. My mother has made two of them. One goes around the table for everyone else while my father watches mournfully as his favorite dessert is passed around without stopping

helps

cleared away; my mother stalks off with the leftover tart, and Damian gets up.