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

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Chapter 74

11 288 Vouchers

and Bree averts her gaze, trying not to laugh. My father snatches up the gravy pot, using the stainless–steel surface as a mirror, and gasps. He looks at all of us in disbelief that we never told him when

are not getting any of 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

eat in silence, barely keeping up casual talk,

for dinner, son.” my mother says. Damian grabs a plate and serves

the war paint, Pa?” he asks, glancing at my father.

about dessert.” my mother tells him.

dessert?” Damian asks.

none.” my mother tells him and Damian snickers, knowing it’s

noticing my father’s sour face, immediately turns solemn and says with

under his breath about ‘disloyal offspring‘ and continues eating his dinner. Bree tries to stifle her laughter

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Chapter 74

1204 Wouchers

up in a fit of giggles, her shoulders shaking

to see that she is trying to fit in. It’s not easy for her; I know that much, but she’s making an effort to make it feel as though we are truly engaged.

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 at him. My father reaches

helps

helps herself to a second slice, helping before the plates are cleared away; my mother stalks off with the leftover tart,