Page 37 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)

“Ah, the coveted caramel custard tart,” Damian teases, his eyes flashing with mischief. He snorts, then, noticing my father’s sour face, immediately turns solemn and says with great exaggeration, “I am sorry for your loss.”

My father grumbles something under his breath about ‘disloyal offspring’ and continues eating his dinner. Bree tries to stifle her laughter behind her hand but fails miserably. She ends up in a fit of giggles, her shoulders shaking as she tries to catch her breath.

Mealtime conversation meanders around recent events in the town, and Bree seems genuinely interested.

She asks my mother about upcoming events, and I’m pleased to see she is trying to fit in.

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

As dessert arrives—the caramel custard 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 at him.

He reaches for it, and my mother slaps his hand, earning giggles from everyone as he watches us eat.

Bree helps herself to a second piece before the plates are cleared away; my mother stalks off with the leftover tart, and Damian rises.

“That was delicious.” Damian rubs his nonexistent belly and laughs, wandering off.

Max tries to sneak dad a piece of his tart when Bree casts a glance at the door where my mother snuck off to, sliding her plate to my father.

I look at him and then her. If my mother catches her sneaking him that, there will be hell to pay.

My father winks at her, and she giggles; she is a bad influence.

My father quickly tucks into his tart while Bree helps Max clean up.

Just as she is untucking his chair and helping him up, my mother comes in, spotting my father.

We all freeze as she purses her lips. My father shoves the remainder of his tart in his mouth.

She stomps toward him and places her hands on her hips.

“Anyone would think I don’t feed you.” She snatches his now empty bowl.

“How did you sneak that without me noticing!” Bree tenses, and I smirk, knowing she is about to be put to work by my mother.

“Soren snuck it to me and said your punishment was unjust,” my father lies!

“Did he now?” my mother asks, turning her icy gaze to me. I open my mouth to argue when Max, the traitor, adds his two cents.

“Sure did, Grandma. I even told him not to!” my son adds fuel to the fire. My mother tosses her hand towel from on her shoulder down on the table.

“Right! You know better, Soren! Now you can help do the dishes!” she snaps at me. Me, do dishes? But I am the damn king!

“Come now?” I ask.

“You heard me. Get in there and scrub those dishes. Your father lied to me and said he was busy this afternoon, and I punished him, and you go behind my back and reward him!” she snaps at me.

“I have maids for that,” I remind her.

“Are you saying a king is above doing dishes?” she asks just as the head maid walks in. I grit my teeth.

“Everything okay?” the maid asks, and my mother turns to her.

“Yes, my son was volunteering to help with the dishes. How lovely of him,” my mother tells her.

“Oh, no, that isn’t necessary.” the maid blabbers.

“Nonsense, Soren insists, take the night off,” my mother tells her. The maid glances at me like she isn’t sure if my mother is serious. I know she will pitch a fit if I don’t and probably drag me in there by my ear.

“Isn’t that right, Soren?” my mother asks.

I force a smile. “That is correct, Marjorie; take the night off,” I tell her, grabbing the tea towel my mother tossed on the table, only to find Bree has bailed on the scolding I am about to receive.

Oh, she will pay for this when I get to the room.

Marjorie rushes off, noticing the tension when my mother steps in my path.

“Really, Soren, you should know better. You may be an almost seven-foot man now, but my knees work just fine. Don’t make me put you over one,” she scolds. I growl at her, and my father snickers behind me.

“I’d like to see you try, Mother. You keep giving me attitude, and I might pick you up and place you on a shelf and leave you there.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “Is that so?” she clicks her tongue.

“You’ll be my little elf on the shelf,” I snicker.

“Challenge accepted, son,” she clicks her fingers; my father’s personal guards step into the room.

“I may be small, son, but I can still chop you down to size to deliver the spanking you deserve,” she retorts. The guards look at her nervously, knowing if she orders them, they’ll have no choice but to try since they are my mother and father’s sires.

“So what will it be?” she asks, popping her hip. I growl, not wanting to hurt her guards, and she knows it. My father laughs harder behind me.

“Just remember who picks your nursing home, old man!” I remind him, which shuts him up.

“What nursing home? I am immortal!” he scoffs.

“I’ll have one made just to take you!” I quip, and he scrunches his face.

“At least I’ll get dessert!” He huffs behind me, and my mother leans to the side to glare at him around me. She then straightens and looks at me expectantly for an answer. I press my lips in a line. This woman!

“They better have gloves,” I snap at her before storming off toward the kitchen.

“Beneath the sink, son,” she calls after me.

· · ·

Two hours later

My hands resemble prunes by the time I’m done. It’s like they used every dish in the kitchen to cook dinner tonight. Once finished, and my mother gave the nod of approval, I immediately left, knowing I needed to tuck Max into bed.

Walking upstairs, I move toward his room when I hear the murmur of voices.

I linger in the dimly lit hallway, just a few paces from Max’s bedroom door, my heart thrumming a guilty beat against my ribs, knowing I wasn’t there for bath time or to tuck him in.

The light from within spills out across the floor, and the hushed voices of Bree and my son reach my ears.

Bree is reading to him, it appears. When the book ends, I’m about to walk in and kiss him goodnight when I hear his voice.

“Are you going to tuck me in every night?” Max’s innocent question floats out, and the hope in his tone is like a punch in the gut.

“Don’t I anyway until your father comes?”

“No, I mean…” Max’s voice trails off.

“I’ll tuck in you whenever you’d like,” Bree replies, her voice soft.

“No, I mean like Dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad usually reads to me…”

“What’s wrong?” Bree asks him.

“As my mom… you could be my mom,” Max’s words are a whisper, but they detonate inside me with the force of an explosion.

I can’t see them, but I picture Bree’s gentle and kind face as she sits on the edge of his small bed, the way her hands must smooth the covers.

My fingers curl into fists at my sides; I’m frozen here in the hallway, trapped between wanting to rush in and reclaim my place and telling him he only has one mother and the knowledge that Max deserves all the love he can get.

“Max,” she starts cautiously, “do you remember your mother?”

There’s a pause, filled only by the sound of my own ragged breathing.

“No,” he admits, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “Is that bad?”

“Of course not,” Bree assures him. “But... is that what you’re asking? If I’m your mother now?”

“Can you be?” His voice is hopeful yet uncertain.

“Max, I care about you a lot,” Bree says, the weight of her words palpable even through the wooden barrier of a door between us. “But I can’t replace her. Your dad loved your mom very much, and it might make him sad if we pretend I’m someone I’m not.”

I press my forehead against the cool wall, closing my eyes against the sting of unshed tears at the thought of my late wife.

Bree’s refusal is right, respectful even, but it twists something fierce inside my chest. The ghost of my wife seems to stand beside me, like I can feel her trying to calm me, even as another part of me yearns for Max to have the maternal love he’s been missing.

“Do you not want to be my mom?” he asks.

“No, Max, it’s not that. It’s… complicated,” Bree responds, her voice filled with tension and pain I’ve never heard before.

She pauses, and I can almost hear her collecting her thoughts.

“Oh, sweet Max,” she sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to.

I just… I can’t replace your mom. It wouldn’t be fair to you or your dad.

But, what I can promise you is that I will look after you, care for you, and love you like my own…

as long as your father and you are okay with that. ”

The knot in my chest tightens further as conflicting emotions crash onto me like waves on a stormy night. Relief and sorrow, gratitude for Bree’s sensitivity and regret for the way Max’s question must have made her feel.

“Okay,” Max murmurs after a moment, and I imagine he’s nodding in acceptance. “It’s okay, Bree. I just like having you here.”

“And I’m here, Max. As long as you want me around.”

Their conversation ends with the soft rustle of sheets and a final goodnight. I want to move away from the door but find myself frozen in place.

Bree’s silhouette emerges from Max’s room, the door closing.

She doesn’t see me at first, her gaze fixed on the floor as if the weight of her conversation with Max still presses down upon her.

It’s when she takes a step forward, her foot catching the edge of the rug, that our worlds collide.

Instinctively, I reach out, my hand wrapping around her arm to steady her.

Her eyes snap up, meeting mine, surprise flickering within them.

She startles when she walks into me. “Max is asleep,” she blurts.

“Sorry.” I release her as if burned by the contact. “You almost fell.” I stand awkwardly, my words lodging in my throat, threatening to suffocate me. Bree watches me back just as intently as an awkward silence moves between us.

“How long have you been standing there?” Bree asks, her voice threaded with a mix of curiosity and concern.

I can’t bring myself to look directly at her, the weight of guilt and longing heavy in my chest. “Not long,” I answer tersely, my response clipped and colder than I intend. She seems taken aback but doesn’t comment on it.

Without another word, I turn on my heel, the sound of my footsteps louder than the drumming of my heart as I stomp away, leaving her alone in the dimly lit hallway.