Page 7 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)
From my cramped hiding place, I can’t see, but I imagine her standing there, clad in her nightgown, wielding nothing but righteous anger against intruders. The footsteps grow louder, more purposeful, as they step into Granny’s living room.
“Excuse me, how dare you just walk in here like you own the joint, and on whose authority?!”
“Alpha Rhett’s, ma’am. His Luna has gone missing, and his mother-in-law said she never went home—that she probably came here,” comes Nathan’s reply, tinged with a patience that doesn’t quite reach the edge in his voice.
I press myself tighter against the wall, willing my racing heart to be silent as the search continues. Granny doesn’t falter, her voice steady as she challenges the intrusion. “Sir, please clarify exactly who you are looking for, I live by myself. There must be some mistake!”
The air is still, every shuffle and murmur from the other side of the wall reverberating through my bones.
Silence hangs for a moment, then Nathan’s voice slices through it, brusque and accusing.
“Aubrey, your granddaughter. She is a wanted fugitive for fraud; she fled from her mate after she robbed his pack.”
My breath catches, trapped in my throat as if the words themselves have woven into a net ensnaring me. I can hear the disbelief in Granny’s voice, a note of confusion that she plays perfectly. “Aubrey, my granddaughter Aubrey? You must be mistaken.”
The lie coats the air, thick and desperate. I press my hand against my mouth, scared that even the sound of my breathing might betray me. The space is cramped, the darkness suffocating, yet it’s the only thing that separates me from being found.
Nathan’s persistence is like a physical force, pressing against the flimsy barrier. “No mistake, ma’am, she even attacked me when she escaped.”
Attacked him? My fingers curl into fists, the memory of that encounter flashing hot and vivid.
It was self-defense, a necessary act to protect myself from a fate worse than any prison they could throw me into.
He makes it sound like it was unprovoked, but what did they expect, me to sit around and wait to be sold off?
“Well, you must have deserved it. However, I haven’t seen her since she was a kid; her mother forbade it. My daughter and I are estranged; I doubt she even remembers I exist,” Granny asserts, her voice laced with a hint of defiance and a sadness I wish I could take away from her.
I draw in a shaky breath, tasting the dust that clings to this cramped space and I have the sudden urge to sneeze. The scent of mothballs and old linen is pungent.
Huddled and jammed in the musty darkness of Granny’s walls, I press my ear against the cool wood of the false door, straining to hear the muffled voices outside.
“Clear!” someone calls, the word slicing through the tense silence like a knife. I barely manage to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape my lips. Nathan sighs heavily, and my chest tightens with the sound, the weight of his resignation as palpable as if he were beside me in this cramped space.
I close my eyes, battling the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
Guilt gnaws at me, sharp and insistent. I think of Granny, her face lined with the years and hardships she’s endured, and my love for her swells alongside my regret.
Why didn’t I come to see her before? Why didn’t I at least try?
But deep down, I know the answer. After the fallout between her and my mother—visiting Granny became forbidden.
And here I am now, back in her house after all these years, relying on her protection, hiding away like a frightened animal while outside, Rhett’s men are scouring and upturning her house searching for me.
“See? Now get out of my house before I call the police,” Granny snaps, her voice a sharp crack in the tense night air. The fierceness in her tone shocks me making it clear she’s not one to be trifled with, even now, at her advanced age.
There’s a moment of silence, before a shuffling of feet, the murmuring of voices, and then Nathan apologizes for the intrusion.
The door closes with a definitive thud, and after a few heartbeats, the sound of retreating vehicles fades into the distance.
My every sense stays heightened as if they may burst back through the door at any moment.
Granny’s footsteps approach the closet and my hiding place where I’ve been holding my breath, trying to become invisible. She taps lightly on the wood. “You can come out,” she says gently.
I push against the panel, emerging from the false wall to see Granny holding the closet door open.
She stands there, a card held between her fingers, her eyes scanning over its contents with a mix of disgust and concern.
Without looking up, she moves toward the fireplace, where a candle flickers, casting dancing shadows across her wrinkled face.
“I think you need to explain, dear, about why your mate is hunting you,” she states, her voice low but steady.
With a fluid motion, she holds the card over the flame.
It catches fire, curling at the edges as it turns black and disintegrates into ash.
She drops the remnants into an old ashtray and coughs—a deep, rattling sound.
She settles herself back into her worn armchair, the one that’s always been too big for her petite frame. “I could slap your mother for sending them here. What was she thinking, selling out her own daughter?” Her words are a whisper as she shakes her head.
“Could you make me a cup of tea, dear? Then we’ll chat and see what we can do about this mate situation. Have you rejected him?” Granny asks, peering at me over the rim of her glasses, her gaze piercing despite the frailty of her body.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice just yet, and turn toward the kitchen.
The kettle seems to take an eternity to boil, the sound filling the silence between us.
I prepare the tea—the way she used to like it, strong and with a spoonful of honey—and return to lean against the doorway, watching as she sips the hot liquid, letting it soothe her throat.
“Thank you for not giving me up.” Gratitude warms me, but is chased by a cold current of fear at what might have happened had they found me.
Granny waves off my thanks with a dismissive hand. “I would never! If I were twenty years younger, and could still shift, I would have attacked his ass.” There’s a spark in her eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the fierce wolf she once was.
I smile sadly, the reality of our situation settling heavy on my shoulders. “Speaking of shifting, please tell me you have suppressants for the full moon?” she asks, I bite my lip and shake my head.
She sighs heavily, the weight of years evident in the sound.
“We’ll work it out, your grandfather used to use the old cellar in the barn, we’ll chain you down if needed,” she tells me, her tone matter-of-fact.
I chuckle, though there’s little humor in the situation.
Full moons force us to shift, and the thought of being bound to prevent harm is both comforting and terrifying.