Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 132

I can’t help but think of my old beat–up car. Its paint is chipping away and has more dents than a golf ball. The steering wheel is worn, and the seats are covered in faded fabric with a few stubborn stains.

My driving skills aren’t the best either, and the idea of navigating one of Soren’s vehicles makes my heart race with nervousness. As I grip the steering wheel, a mixture of excitement and apprehension floods through me, and I begin to shake my head.

“I can’t take one of these. What if I…” Soren starts the car and shuts the door. “Do you have one that is less… expensive? What about an old beater car or something?” Soren arches a brow at me.

“A what?” he questions.

“Something more durable?” I ask. Soren chuckles softly.

“Your driving can’t be that bad. Besides, I have insurance.” I roll my eyes, but he continues.

“You’re not taking whatever heap of junk is parked in your grandmother’s barn. Besides, these all have AirTags in them, so I can track where you are.” The thought of being tracked makes me uncomfortable, a sense of being watched that prickles at the back of my mind.

is reassured by the idea that someone will know where I

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anything goes wrong, but it also has me worried that Soren

you, Soren,” I say, my voice wavering slightly as I force a smile.

promise.” He gives me a reassuring nod, and I

glides. effortlessly down the driveway, the powerful engine purring beneath me. The road ahead stretches out into the night, illuminated by the car’s headlights. Each mile takes me farther from the life I’ve started to build, but the urgency of seeing my

to the more rugged terrain of my childhood home. The familiar roads bring a flood of memories–happy, carefree days intertwined with the painful past I thought I had left behind. I grip the steering wheel tighter, the thought of returning to

heart races as I navigate the winding roads, leading me to the packhouse–a place filled with echoes of laughter and love now overshadowed by the weight of my

into the familiar driveway, my childhood home standing dark and silent

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with life, feels eerily quiet. Shadows flit across the windows, and I’m hit by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia mixed with dread.