Page 9 of Lycan Prey (Little Secrets Duet #1)

· Aubrey ·

A few days later

I’m abruptly awoken by the sound of coughing.

The sound of violent hacks rips me from my slumber, and I lurch upright, as I peek through the window, paranoia gnawing at me.

Is Rhett here? Has he found me? After a few seconds, I recognize the hacking as my grandmother’s.

Relief washes over me, and I clutch my chest.

Just days ago, Rhett had sent someone here looking for me and I haven’t left the house since then.

Thankfully no one bothered to check the old barn behind granny’s dilapidated house or they would have spotted my car.

The first time he sent someone, I had been in town picking up milk, and my grandmother had convinced them I wasn’t there.

I was forced to hide my car in the old barn-style shed out the back, its roof caving in which is where it’s stayed since.

I’m just waiting for it to crush my car with a strong gust of wind. That building looks as frail as Granny.

At this point, if it did, I’d accept it as a win, and the Goddess doing me a favor since I know he put out an alert on it; it came across the news the other night.

However, the only photo he had of me was one my parents gave him from when I was teenager and going through the awkward emo stage.

It bothered me that he had no photos of me, because I had plenty of him on my phone.

Just shows I was always more invested in the mate bond than he was.

Even the grainy footage from the gas station was too distorted to make out my features and instead I looked like a blonde blur.

Granny suggested I dye my hair; unfortunately the local pharmacy when I got milk that day only had a mix of rainbow dyes, so we made do; now I look like I fart rainbows.

Granny proved to still have skills—she used to be a hairdresser—and bright colors are her favorite, she did a good job and I must admit I like the change.

How much longer could I keep this up, though?

Not only that, but the pain from the mate bond is excruciating.

Some nights, all I can do is lie awake and endure it.

I can feel his infidelity in every atom of my body.

Some nights I hate him, others I mourn the mate bond—a bond I know I’ll never get back.

Werewolves have only one mate and mine has turned out to be a dud, or maybe I was the dud and that’s why he chose her over me.

The questions my mind rattles off and taints my psyche are growing worse with each day.

It’s as if Rhett is deliberately being unfaithful to our bond, tormenting me from afar with the crippling agony of his infidelity with Bianca.

Another lot of hacking coughs rings out again, and I turn my head to the door, my heart beating faster when I hear her wheeze loudly.

I rush to her side, my chest aching with every step.

Her face is pale, and beads of sweat dot her forehead, making me worry even more about her fragile health.

The empty oxygen tank beside her bed only intensifies my concern.

Panicking, I hand her the inhaler, only to find that it’s also running low.

“Grandma, do you have another inhaler?” I ask with worry.

She shakes her head, struggling to catch her breath. “I’ll have to make do until next month when my disability check comes in,” she says weakly.

Seeing her struggle to breathe, I know I have to find her another when I remember the last of the money from the envelope in my car.

“Grandma, I’ll be right back; I just need to go out to my car,” I tell her.

I rush to see how much is left. Racing to the kitchen, I find my keys and I’m tempted to turn on my phone to see if anyone is looking for me.

But I refrain, knowing my phone can be tracked; I can’t risk Rhett finding me.

I trek down the old driveway that is covered in grass high up to my waist. Stepping into the old barn, I cringe, praying the roof doesn’t fall and crush me to death.

The wind whistling through the cracks of the barn turned shack, I squeeze up the side, ripping the blankets off the roof and opening the door.

I slide in feeling slightly safer inside the car than standing outside it waiting for the gust that will finally do the place in.

I’m about to drive into town when I turn the key in the ignition and notice my gaslight is on again.

I can’t afford to fill the car and get Grandma another oxygen tank plus her inhalers, so I decide to walk instead.

Grabbing the envelope from the glove compartment, I take out the last of the cash while hoping the oxygen tank won’t be too much.

I’ve noticed over the last two nights since it’s been colder, she has struggled to breathe and constantly uses both her inhaler and the tank more.

Tossing blankets back over the car, I make my way through the grass and to the old porch.

I trudge back up the creaky old porch steps and enter the house, hurrying back to my grandmother’s room.

She’s sitting up now, trying to catch her breath as she struggles with another coughing fit.

I immediately rush to her side and help her out of bed, supporting her weight as we slowly make our way to her favorite chair by the window in the living room.

I wince as I hear the old springs of the chair digging into her backside, and she pulls a strange face clearly feeling them.

She wriggles until she is comfortable. I offered to drag the other armchair over.

Yet, she refuses to sit in it, stating it’s Grandpa’s chair, not that it’s in much better condition; at least the springs aren’t poking through in places, though.

As she settles into her chair, I grab the old Afghan blanket from a nearby shelf and drape it over her shoulders. She smiles weakly at me, her eyes still full of love and gratitude despite her failing health. A pang of guilt rises within me for not being here to help her sooner.

“Thank you, dear,” she says softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll make some tea,” I reply, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall from guilt. I almost forgot about her until I needed help. Even after all these years, she isn’t bitter or resentful for her abandonment by my family; she still opened her home to me; the least I can do is stay and help.

As the water boils on the stove, I pull out some crackers from the pantry and bring them to my grandmother. She nibbles on them slowly, struggling to keep them down with each coughing fit.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely after one particularly bad coughing spell.

“Don’t apologize,” I say firmly, rubbing her back soothingly. “Just focus on getting better.”

She nods weakly before taking another sip of tea. She offers a small, grateful smile before closing her eyes.

“Grandma, why didn’t you ask for help? Why didn’t Mom or anyone else do something?” I can’t hold back the anger and sadness in my voice.

My grandmother sighs, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resignation.

“Your mother and me… we had our differences, especially after the accident with Brielle and she chose to distance herself. I can see why she blamed me; she always hated the road here and warned me constantly about letting you girls ride your bikes out the front.” She sighs heavily.

“I’ve always been too proud to ask for help, but I never thought it would come to this and for a long time I also blamed myself for Brielle.

I should have called you girls back when you moved off the sidewalk. ”

No one could have predicted what happened.

That day will forever haunt me. Not as much as the regret of abandoning Grandma the way my mother did, though.

I was so caught up in the grief of losing my sister, and how my mother and father were coping, I never gave thought to how Grandma was.

She didn’t just lose her granddaughter that day, she lost everyone, and Grandpa a year earlier.

“I’m so sorry, Grandma. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, I’m here now.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and she reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Aubrey. You being here means the world to me.”

“I’m heading into town to get you another tank and inhaler, will you be okay on your own?”

She sighs. “It’s just the morning chill, I’ll be fine, dear.”

I raise an eyebrow. She may be headstrong but I can be just as stubborn and she must read that on my face because she waves me off knowing I’m going despite her pleas to not waste what little money we have left.

Grabbing my hoodie off the back of the dining room chair, I prepare to head into town on foot.

I slip my feet into my shoes and remind myself I need to find some clothes.

Grandma made a few calls the day after I arrived and managed to rustle up some for me since I came with nothing except what I was wearing and the few items I found that I left in my car.

Thankfully I had because had I not left my car down the street and caught the bus that day I would have had nothing—not to mention I would have probably been caught.

However, the beauty of this small town offers a brief respite from my pain and tumultuous thoughts as I trot toward the pharmacy.

As I approach the pharmacy, a figure leans against the wall next to a food truck, impatiently looking at his watch and I stop dead in my tracks wondering why his figure feels so familiar.

As the breeze shifts, the air is filled with the familiar scent that instantly freezes the blood in my veins as I try to place it.

It doesn’t take me long before I recognize the smell, it’s Rhett’s scent with a hint of cologne.

It’s a nauseating combination, one I used to find comforting but now makes me feel sick. His back is turned toward me, but I recognize the broad shoulders and tall frame of Rhett. My heart skips a beat. What is he doing here? Did he follow me? He turns and I duck behind a tall sign.