Page 43 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)

· King Soren ·

I lean against the door frame, watching Bree stuff clothes into an old, worn duffel bag with more force than necessary.

She seems antsy to leave; she is wearing loose clothing, comfortable and easy for her to escape when she needs to shift.

The full moon is tonight, so Bree is heading to her grandmother’s old shack, a house would be too polite to call it.

I’m surprised the place is still standing.

It looks like it is one strong gust of wind away from crumbling to dust or being blown away.

A knot of worry tightens in my stomach as I watch her.

I know she needs the isolation during her transformation, but the dilapidated state of the old cellar makes me uneasy.

I can’t shake the feeling that something will go wrong and I won’t be there to help her.

“You don’t have to go,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “It’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bree pauses, her hands freezing mid-motion as she gazes up at me, her eyes filled with annoyance.

“I appreciate your concern, Soren, but I need to do this. It’s the only way I can control the transformation and keep everyone safe.”

“We can secure you in the dungeons here. No one would bother you down there, you’d be perfectly safe, and I would be more at ease knowing you aren’t being taken advantage of if someone does happen to stumble upon you.”

“You just won’t give up!” she huffs, clearly annoyed at me harassing her over this, but there is no need for her to leave. We are equipped to handle a shifted rabid werewolf here.

“The cellar is falling apart, Bree. What if the roof caves in, or you get trapped down there? And what about if a male wolf finds you down there? There could be anything lurking in the woods around your grandmother’s old place, and you wouldn’t be in any condition to defend yourself.”

Bree sighs heavily and shakes her head.

”Bree?”

She pauses, her hands gripping the edge of the bag as she looks up at me, her eyes fierce and finding mine quickly.

“Soren, being locked away without seeing the moon would torment me for a whole month. You know how the call affects me. I need to be outside. Not being out in the elements on a full moon may drive my wolf mad. Plus, I will be more rabid until the next one, meaning I will be a danger to Max.” Her gaze drops for a moment.

“The moon’s pull is stronger than you think, and I need to be free to follow it, even if it means returning to that old cellar. ”

I cross my arms, unconvinced. “A cellar is no better. It’s damp, cramped—”

“Actually, it’s not just any cellar.” Her voice softens a bit as if she’s trying to ease my worry.

“The cellar in Grandma’s house leads to a network of tunnels.

There’s a Perspex dome I found out about,” she chuckles humorlessly, “which she conveniently forgot to mention. It sits right in the middle of the backyard. I stumbled upon it last time; it was hidden beneath the overgrown grass. I’ll see the moonlight, feel its presence. It will be fine, Soren.”

I want to argue further and point out a dozen different risks, but the hard set in Bree’s posture tells me it’s a lost cause.

Her connection to the lunar cycle is something I can never fully understand since Lycans don’t need to worry about moon cycles.

However, I respect it enough to trust her judgment. Besides, she won’t listen to me anyway.

“Alright,” I concede, pushing off the doorframe. “But promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Always am.”

Max’s small, inquisitive face peers around the corner of the doorframe, his brow furrowed with worry. Bree pauses mid-pack, her eyes softening at the sight of him.

“Please don’t go,” Max whines at her. She kneels, extending her arms for a hug that Max rushes into without hesitation.

“Sweetheart, you know I have to go to Grandma’s tonight.” She smooths back his hair as he nods against her chest. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? That’s why I can’t stay here.”

Max pulls back, his expression serious beyond his years. “Because of the moon?” he asks, and Bree nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Exactly. And I don’t want you to see me… not in control; I have no control in that state,” she whispers, her eyes flickering to mine, silently pleading for understanding. She stands.

I watch them, a tightness in my chest growing with each passing second. “Bree,” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.

“I won’t risk your son, Soren,” she states flatly, not letting me finish. And with that, she turns away, scooping up the last of her things.

I’m left standing there, torn between the need to protect and the impulse to hold her back. But deep down, I know she’s right. Max can’t see what happens during the shift. It’s too raw, too wild. He’s too young to understand.

Resigning, I turn and make my way down the corridor. I have paperwork to lodge, and I need to check with border patrols.

I step into the dimly lit space, its walls lined with bookshelves.

This is where I can think and where I can work; my mother mostly knows not to bother me here.

But today, it feels like a cage, confining me within its four walls while Bree prepares to run off with the moon.

It makes me antsy, knowing the risk she is putting herself through.

I never really considered the dangers for she-wolves on a full moon, and I’ve never been close enough to one to have to worry about their well-being during one.

My hands find the edge of the desk, my fingers gripping the wood until it hurts.

With a heavy sigh, I sink into the chair just as the door to my office swings open with a force that startles me from my thoughts. Glancing at the door, I find it is my brother.

Damian strides in, his usually immaculate suit bearing the creases of a day.

In his hand, he clutches an envelope, and he holds it up.

I wonder what has put him in such a bad mood.

Damian’s face is etched with frustration, his brows furrowed, and his jaw set tight.

His eyes, usually calm and calculating, now blaze with an intensity that catches me off guard.

He slams the envelope onto my desk, the sound echoing through the room.

“Trouble,” he says, a single word that comes out in almost a growl as he points to the envelope on my desk.

I raise an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic display of anger.

I reach for the envelope, my mind racing with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. The tension in the room is palpable, and I can feel my own frustration bubbling beneath the surface as I prepare to deal with whatever has my brother so angry.

A glance at the council’s seal has my stomach tightening.

I reach for the papers, pulling them free.

The words swim before my eyes, but their meaning is unmistakable.

No record of a Brielle. It’s as if Bree never existed, at least not in our society at all; she should have at least something more than a birth certificate; surely she has a credit history or something, a driver’s license.

Perhaps Brielle has been living off the grid, avoiding any formal documentation to keep her identity hidden.

Another possibility is that someone with significant power has erased her records, effectively wiping her existence from all official databases.

Alternatively, she could be using an alias, which would explain the absence of any traceable history under her real name.

“Damian, this has to be an error.” My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears, as I continue to read the letter from the council.

It’s not impossible for her to have no other documentation if she was born and raised as a rogue.

Damian’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he runs a hand through his hair, clearly troubled by the lack of information about her.

“This changes everything,” he mutters, his voice low and filled with concern.

“We have no idea who you have living under your damn roof. How do you not see an issue with this? She is clearly hiding something!” He paces the room, pausing only to glance at the council’s seal, the weight of the situation sinking in.

He hovers over the desk like a damn vulture circling a carcass. “She’s not who she claims to be, Soren. You need to cut her loose—before this blows back on you and Max. She could be a serial killer for all we know!”

I laugh at his words. What could a werewolf possibly do to harm me or Max in a castle filled with Lycans and guards?

“You can’t trust her. She’s not who she says she is. You have to let her go.” He sighs in frustration. “It’s for your own good.”

I look up from the damning documents, meeting his gaze squarely. “No. Bree’s past might be a mystery, but she’s no liar. Tell the council to dig deeper. The historical database—there has to be something there; look into her grandmother if need be.”

Damian’s expression hardens, the lines of his face drawing into a map of skepticism. “You’re putting everyone at risk. This is exactly why you should never have let her come here. If she’s hiding something—”

“Then we will deal with it when we must.” I interrupt, firm, my anger at him overriding his doubt. “But not before then. We owe her that much.”

“You owe her nothing! This is going to go bad. She could be anyone! Why can’t you see that? She is hiding something, Soren. And you are too fucking blinded by your feelings for the girl. You can’t see what is right in front of your face!”

“She has not tried to do anything; if she were planning to try something, she would have done it by now!” I snap.

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods stiffly. The gesture is one of compliance rather than agreement. “Very well. But remember, it’s your son’s life on the line, too.”