Page 16 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)

· Aubrey ·

The clock above the café door ticks away, a relentless reminder of the time slipping through my fingers.

Each passing minute ratchets up the tension coiling in my stomach, an uneasy dance between nervousness and anticipation.

I steal glances at King Soren and his son, Max, as I deliver steaming cups of coffee to other patrons.

“Everything alright, Brielle?” Marianne asks, her face etched with concern. I force a smile, my hand trembling ever so slightly as I set down a plate.

“Yeah, just… ready for the day to be over,” I admit, my gaze flickering back to the regal figures occupying a corner booth. The sight of King Soren, so powerful yet tender with his child, is an intoxicating blend of fear and attraction I’m not sure what to do with.

The café’s usual hum of chatter fades to a dull roar as my pulse quickens.

I can sense King Soren’s eyes on me, heavy with an intensity that belies the casual setting.

With every passing second, my skin prickles with awareness, and I find myself fumbling slightly with the coffee cups, my nervousness mirrored in the clatter of porcelain.

When my shift is a few minutes from over, my fingers fumble slightly as I untie the apron, the fabric suddenly feeling like chains that bind me to this place.

Hanging it up with a practiced swing, I turn to Marianne, who’s busy tallying the day’s receipts.

“Hey, I’m on for the morning shift tomorrow, right?

” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m a storm of nerves knowing the King hasn’t left yet.

“Yep, bright and early,” Marianne replies without looking up, her face scrunched in concentration.

I nod, trying to focus on the mundane conversation, though my gaze involuntarily drifts across the café.

It lingers on King Soren—his regal posture, the way his hand gently steadies Max at his side.

The sight sends an unfamiliar flutter through my chest, an attraction mingled with apprehension.

With each tick of the clock, I become more desperate to escape to the safety of home, to check on Grandma and shake off the weight of his presence.

“Alright, see you then,” I murmur, already sidestepping toward the door when a tiny pressure against my leg halts me mid-stride. Looking down, my heart squeezes at the sight of Max, his large eyes shimmering pools of hope.

“Hello, Max,” I say, the tension in my tone melting into a warm smile for the small boy whose innocence seems untouched by the harshness of pack politics. Despite my own turmoil, I’m drawn into his little world, a momentary respite from betrayal and heartache.

“Max!” comes King Soren’s voice. I glance up at him, feeling the vast expanse of air shrink between us.

His height casts a shadow that feels like an eclipse over my own petite form.

He looms large, not just in stature but in presence—a King in every sense, his authority radiating off him like heat from the midday sun.

His gaze shifts to Max and something inside me twists. There, in the depths of his stormy eyes, I glimpse of a father’s love so fierce it could move mountains or tear down walls.

“Sorry,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can catch it. My cheeks flame with a mix of embarrassment and something else—an inexplicable pull toward this man who embodies both my deepest fears and unacknowledged desires.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, though it’s clear it’s not. My voice trembles, betraying my nervousness—a need to flee back to the safety of my grandmother’s house, yet also a longing to linger in the presence of the King before me.

“Max, come here,” King Soren commands again, softer this time, but no less insistent.

A pang of empathy twinges in my chest for the little prince. He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, so full of hope and longing. And there it is again, that pull toward the King, a yearning to be part of their world, if only for a fleeting moment.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the foolish thoughts. This isn’t some fairy tale; it’s real life, and I’m just a waitress with too many worries and not enough answers. Trying to hide from the very man standing in front of me I remind myself.

“Sorry,” slips from my lips once more, an apology to no one in particular—for my wandering thoughts, for the ache in my heart, for the secrets I keep locked away. It’s time to leave, time to escape the King’s magnetic presence before I get drawn into a world where I surely don’t belong.

“Please, Dad, please…” Max’s whisper-soft plea pulls at my heartstrings. His big eyes shimmer with a hope that I recognize all too well—the same kind that used to swell in my own chest on the rare occasions my father would promise a visit to the park.

“Please, please, please,” he continues.

King Soren takes a deep breath, and the rigid lines of his shoulders ease ever so slightly.

His eyes flicker toward me, dark orbs swirling with a storm of frustration and affection that makes my pulse quicken.

There’s a softness in the hard set of his jaw when he looks at Max, a tenderness that pierces through the armor of royalty.

“Max, sweetheart,” I murmur, stealing one last glance at the boy who’s managed to sneak his way into my affections. “I really have to go.”

The door to the outside world beckons, a portal back to my reality—a reality that doesn’t include royal dilemmas or the piercing blue of King Soren’s eyes. A reality where the heartache of pack betrayal and the sting of abandonment are as familiar as breathing.

“Max, we’ve just talked about this,” King Soren says, his voice resolute but soft around the edges with a patience that only parents possess.

I can’t help but eavesdrop, the words tugging at me like the moon’s pull on the tide.

“You need to stay by my side when we’re in public places. It’s for your safety.” His tone is a tender command.

Max’s face falls. His lower lip trembles as he casts his gaze to the ground, his small frame deflating like a balloon losing air. It wrenches something inside me, that look of defeat in a child’s eyes, the loss of innocence to the harsh realities of their world.

I need to go home. I need to be the responsible one for once, not the girl who gets lost in a fantasy where Kings look at her with softness in their eyes. Where little princes see her as a playmate rather than a stranger.

Max’s hushed voice slices through the buzz of conversation, as thin as the sunlight filtering through the windows. “I know,” he whispers, his tiny form dwarfed by the chair he’s perched on. “I just…wanted to see Brielle.”

My gaze lingers on King Soren: the fatigue carved into his features, the way his broad shoulders sag ever so slightly. His hand rises, a brief gesture that belies a father’s worry, thumb and forefinger pressing against the bridge of his nose.

The atmosphere thickens, every second stretched thin, tugging at the threads of composure I desperately cling to. A longing to escape wars with the magnetic pull I feel toward him, a dangerous dance I never intended to join.

“Please, Dad.” His big puppy dog eyes, brimming with a child’s earnest hope, seem to magnify in their appeal as he gazes up at King Soren.

“We don’t have any idea who she is, Max—she’s a stranger,” King Soren responds, his tone threading the needle between calm and frustration.

The words are measured, however they carry an undercurrent of fear that resonates within me.

It echoes the trepidation I’ve felt since he walked into this ordinary place, turning my ordinary day on its head.

King Soren peers down at his son, his kingly posture unbending yet his eyes betraying a father’s internal conflict. “She’s not! She’s my friend!” Max protests, his stubbornness as solid as the castle walls that shield their private lives.

King Soren’s mouth sets into a stern line. The air thickens with tension, and I find myself holding my breath, unwilling to disrupt this delicate moment.

“Can I stay with you tomorrow, please, please, please?” Max pleads, his bright eyes brimming with hope as he stares at me and my eyes widen realizing he is asking me. “I don’t want to go back to training,” he adds, a soft note of desperation lacing his voice.

Flustered, I glance around the café, seeking an excuse from those imploring eyes. I’m trapped, caught between my growing affection for this boy who sees me as a friend and the need to get away from his father before he kills me for treason or some other reason.

“Max,” I start, but my voice is barely a whisper, drowned out by the clamor of my own racing heart. “Max, I have to go home,” I murmur, the words barely escaping my lips as I crouch down to his level.

“Home?” His voice is a small echo of disappointment, but he quickly brightens, the resilience of youth shining through. “Well, maybe you can come over and play at my place?” A strand of hair falls into his face, and he brushes it aside with an innocence that squeezes my heart.

I sigh. “Maybe another time, Max,” I say softly, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. My chest tightens with guilt for the loneliness etched into his features.

“Sweetie, I need to go home and check on my grandma,” I murmur, the quiver in my voice betraying the turmoil beneath my calm exterior. Max’s bright eyes widen, a glimmer of understanding behind the innocence. Yet, he’s persistent, his next words tugging at the already frayed edges of my resolve.

“My daddy can drive you home! Then you can come home with us after you check on your Granny!” His eagerness is a punch to my gut; it stings. Isn’t there a friend, a playmate, for him somewhere?

“Max, I…” My voice trails off trying to come up with an excuse.

It’s clear his father doesn’t want me around his son, and why would he?

I am a stranger after all and trying to deceive the King.

But Max’s hopeful gaze tugs at something deep within me, a maternal instinct I didn’t know existed, mingling with an undeniable pull toward his father that’s both reckless and irresistible.

“At least let me drive you home,” King Soren says, stepping closer, his presence enveloping me. His words, laced with genuine kindness, send a jolt through my veins. The scent of him—a mix of pine and power—fills my senses, and for a moment, I’m lost in the deep blue of his eyes.

“Your Highness, I… that isn’t necessary,” I falter again.

I should say no. I should turn away from his offer, from his son’s pleading eyes, from the allure of this man who is so much more than a simple man.

But the wolf inside me howls in protest, craving his nearness, while the woman fears the inevitable fall into his orbit and the destruction he can cause if he figures out I’m lying to him.

“Please, Brielle,” Max’s voice breaks through my reverie, a small hand reaching for mine. “It’ll be fun!”

“Sweetheart,” I start, my voice quivering, “it’s not that simple.” I gaze up at King Soren, seeking mercy in his gaze, pleading silently for him to tell his son no for me.

“I don’t mind,” the King adds, though I believe mainly because he is busy and wanting to leave.

I hesitate, caught in the crossfire of their expectant stares. The offer is kindness itself, however, danger lurks beneath the surface. If I accept, I’ll be confined with him, alone with the questions I fear, the urges I must suppress, the secrets I desperately need to keep.

“It’s fine, it’s not that far,” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me drive you home,” King Soren insists again, his voice commanding yet laced with an unexpected kindness. “It’s the least I can do after you’ve looked after my son.”

Max beams up at me, his little hand reaching out as if he can pull me into their world with nothing except his will. “See, Brielle. Then you can check on Grandma and come to the castle. We can finally play!” His excitement is contagious, his innocence a balm to my frayed edges.

The thought of being alone with the King, confined within the steel walls of his car, sends a shiver down my spine.

However, it isn’t just fear that stirs within me—it’s a longing, a yearning for something I cannot have, something as forbidden and alluring as the moon’s call to my wolfen soul.

“So?” King Soren’s deep voice pulls me from the tempest of my thoughts, and I find myself locking eyes with him—those piercing blue depths that unsettle me in ways I don’t want to admit.

“Fine,” I murmur, my lips pressing into a tight line.

It’s a reluctant surrender to Max’s hopeful gaze, one that might buy his father a moment’s peace.

The boy’s energy is electric, his tiny feet barely touching the floor as he hops toward the door, a whirlwind of youthful exuberance, and I rise giving in to the child.

“Thank you, I know he can sometimes be a handful.” King Soren’s words carry a weight, an acknowledgment that seems to see right through me.

I shake my head, brushing off his gratitude with a flicker of a smile, “I find him sweet, he’s a breath of fresh air,” I tell him, and it’s true. Max reminds me of the innocence I once had before life got its hands on me.