Page 42 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)

· Aubrey ·

I stagger out of Damian’s car, wincing with each step as if I’m navigating a minefield in my trousers.

The raw aftermath of my waxing session makes every movement feel like I’m rubbing sandpaper between my thighs—or what’s left of them.

The castle looms ahead, its ancient stones suddenly mocking my very modern pain.

My pants chafe with every step, a cruel reminder of my now too-smooth situation. It’s like walking with two angry, hairless cats fighting in my underwear. With no protective buffer, every seam feels like it’s plotting against me.

Soren is waiting, his smile quickly turning to a puzzled frown as he watches me waddle up the drive. The confusion on his face morphs into shock as I approach, moving like a penguin.

“Having trouble there?” Soren calls out, trying to mask his concern with humor as he takes in my peculiar shuffle.

“You could say that,” I grunt, managing a glare in his direction. “Feels like I’ve just ridden a cactus bareback.”

His eyes widen in amused horror as I limp past him, my walk turning into a bizarre bow-legged shuffle. “What happened to you?”

I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk. Ignoring his question, I beeline for the kitchen, each step a reminder of the day’s atrocities. “Just a brief trip to hell and back. Thanks for asking!” I mutter under my breath.

“Why, what happened?”

“Let’s just say your mother introduced me to a waxing strip, and it took a liking to me—a lot,” I say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, then winces sympathetically as I make a pained face. “Looks like you’re trying to smuggle a porcupine in your pants.”

“Not smuggling, the porcupine violated me!” I correct him with a pained smile.

Soren’s laughter rings out, a clear, joyful sound that, despite my discomfort, makes the corners of my mouth twitch upward. “I’d offer to carry you, but I fear the porcupines might object,” he teases, opening the door for me as we reach the kitchen.

“Very funny,” I mutter, heading straight for the freezer. I’m on a mission for anything cold, my new best friends being frozen peas or, ideally, an entire iceberg I can shove inside my pants to bring my core temperature down.

Inside the kitchen, I make a dive for the freezer, fishing out a bag of frozen peas. I press it against my tortured southern region, sighing in relief as the cold numbs the stinging. Soren follows, amusement written all over his face.

Soren snickers, clearly trying to imagine the scene. “It can’t be that bad.”

I give him a look that would burn him alive had I been born a witch. “I think my lips have been ripped off.”

His laughter fills the kitchen, and I can’t help but fantasize about smothering him with the pea bag. Instead, I storm off, walking like a cowboy who’s spent a week riding bareback to our room so I can remove these pants.

With my hands full of frozen peas and dignity nowhere to be found, I trudge up the stairs, praying for a miracle that will numb this pain. Soren’s laughter echoes behind me, only making me boil alongside my humiliation. “I’m sorry,” he says between fits of laughter, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will!” I snap at him.

Once in our room, I take a deep breath and brace myself, pulling the denim down my legs with a hiss.

Soren ventures into the room and perches at the side of the bed. He tries to stifle a grin but fails miserably as he takes in my predicament. “Do you need help with anything?”

Huffing, I reply, “Unless you’ve got a magic ointment that can grow back hair within seconds or conjure up an ice cloud to sit on, your ‘help’ isn’t required.”

His laughter rumbles through the room once more. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

My reply is a glare.

I carefully peel off my jeans. The relief when they finally hit the floor is instantaneous.

I reach for my trusty flannel pajamas, praying they will offer some comfort.

Sighing at the relief of nothing chafing, I’m about to climb into bed when a knock sounds at the door.

Soren tells them to enter. It’s the bags from the car.

The maid places them by the door before wandering out, and a smile splits onto my face.

“Hey, I know how you can make it up to me!” I call over my shoulder as I move to retrieve the bag I’m looking for. Soren, still chuckling, follows me, perplexed.

“Anything,” he says, but his voice trails off as he watches me dig through the shopping bags I brought home.

My hand closes around the waxing strips I purchased, and I turn, a triumphant grin on my face. His eyes widen as I brandish the box like a trophy.

“Anything but that!” he backs away, shaking his head. “No!”

“Oh yes,” I insist, stepping closer. “You said anything.”

He makes a break for it, but I’m quicker, fueled by the fiery motivation of revenge. I tackle him onto the bed. He shrieks like a girl clawing his way out from under me, but I grip his pants so as he slides off the bed, he is left only in his boxers.

Soren gets to his feet and makes a dash for the door.

Only when he reaches for it, we both pause, hearing his mother’s voice outside.

He turns, his eyes land on the bathroom, and he beelines for it, but I pounce on him like a spider monkey.

I cling to his back, and he thrashes silently, knowing his mother will come rushing in here if he makes too much noise.

Unable to throw me off without hurting me, he falls backward on the bed, my wax strips tumbling onto the plush carpet.

“No, I refuse!” he says, jamming his fingers in my ribs while I try to wriggle out from under him.

“We had a deal, so you’ll take it like my fanny did!” I snap at him. He becomes deadweight on top of me, squashing the air from my lungs.

“I’m not moving!” he tells me while I thrash beneath him. He laughs as I try to escape his weight, giving up. I lay like a starfish, trying to catch my breath.

“You given up yet?”

“Never!” I tell him, biting the back of his shoulder. He jolts and roars, jerking upright.

“You just bit me!” he snaps as I climb off the bed, retrieving the ready-made wax strips from the floor.

He looks at his shoulder before noticing me sneaking closer. “I said no!”

“Either I wax you while you’re awake, or I wait for you to sleep and wax your head!”

He glares.

“What will it be?” I ask him.

“All the women in this place have gone mad. I am King!”

“About to be a hairless one!”

“Fine!” He falls back on the bed and folds his arms across his chest, glaring at the ceiling. “I swear if you tell a soul about this, I will… I will think of something!”

I giggle, moving toward him.

I climb on the bed and pin his legs between mine.

He sits up slightly, and I yank at his boxers, only to pause when confronted by the considerable sight of his manhood.

A moment of hesitation flickers through me—he dares me with a raised eyebrow to continue while my face flames at the closeness of it.

“No, not that,” I decide, my eyes scanning for a less intimidating target.

His chest—I rip open his shirt before he can argue, the buttons popping off, perfectly hairy and far less daunting. I slap a strip onto his chest.

“People will see that!” he snarls at me.

I smile. “It’s not that bad. Be thankful I’m not touching your family jewels; they’d be calling you King One Nut!” Then I rip it off with all the vengeance I can muster.

He lets out a squeal so high-pitched that Damian bursts into the room, thinking his brother is being tortured. “What’s—oh,” he stops, taking in the scene.

“Get out!” Soren snarls at him, and Damian slowly backs out, muttering something about the King squealing like a girl.

Undeterred, I reach for another strip, but Soren flips our positions, pinning one hand above my head as he presses his weight against me. “Nope, you’ve had your fun!”

I slap the next one on his chest, and he growls, snatching my wrist. “It has to come off,” I taunt.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as he grips both my wrists in one hand, holding them against the bed. His free hand settles on the strip of wax. “If that’s how it is…” He tugs it off in a swift motion.

My victorious laughter echoes through the room as Soren grits his teeth and lets out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.

Despite the pain, there’s a twist of amusement in his eyes, indicating he might be enjoying this mad game just as much as I am.

“Hmm, now what to do with you?” he ponders, examining the sticky strip.

My eyes widen as he hovers it above my face.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasp, trying to wriggle free from his iron grip. But the gleam in his eyes tells me he’s deadly serious. Slowly, with a wicked smile, he lowers the wax strip down onto my brow.

“An eye for an eye,” he murmurs, holding the strip down onto my skin. “Or, in this case, a brow for a chest.” My attempts to plead and wriggle out of his hold are futile as Soren just grins at me, clearly enjoying the revenge.

“Wait!” I managed to say before he can rip off the strip. But it’s too late. He rips it off, and I squeal and squeeze my eyes shut. Only no pain comes. He laughs, and I pop one eye open to see him holding the strip, but it’s only the clean side up.

“You asshole, I thought you were really going to remove my eyebrow!”

He laughs harder. “No, but you should have seen your face!” I glare at him. “Why would I remove your eyebrow when I have to be seen with you!”

“Are you done with your revenge?” he asks.

“For now…”

“For now?” he asks before scratching his chin.

“I think I can change your mind,” he ponders, and I arch a brow at him, but he smiles deviously, letting go of my wrists; I’m suddenly very aware of his body pressed against mine.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” I murmur, caught off guard by the abrupt change.

“I could always kiss it better?”

“Ha, and why would I let you do that?” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes briefly drop to where my arms are folded. When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, his mouth turns into a smug grin.

“Well…” He places a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “I am wounded, and here I am trying to make you feel better…”

“Your chivalry is touching.” I roll my eyes but can’t hold back a smile. His fingers gently brush the skin just above my brow where he could have removed it.

“Is it working?” he asks softly and leans in, his face coming closer.

My heart hammers, his touch sending shivers down my spine.

I refuse to break eye contact, the air between us crackling with anticipation as he leans closer.

His soft scent hits me, making my stomach flutter just as the door bursts open and Max rushes in.

“Your back!” he squeals, looking at me while his father hastily climbs off me.

Max looks between us both, then at his father’s chest.

“What happened to your chest?” he asks.

“He caught the mange. I was helping put cream on it,” I tell Max, and Soren gapes at me.

“Can you still tuck me in?” he asks hopefully. I glance at the clock, not realizing how late it was when we got back from shopping. Peering at the window outside, it is dark, the sun having gone down now.

“Sure, I’ll be in in a minute,” I tell him, and he bounces excitedly just as Alaric passes by.

“There you are, boy; how are you supposed to save me from your grandmother if you keep running off.”

“I want Bree to tuck me in, but she was helping Dad with his mange.” Alaric straightens abruptly, glancing at Soren.

“I thought only dogs caught that?” Max mutters, walking out of the room.

“Me too, I hope it’s not contagious,” Alaric mutters, following after him.