Page 5 of The Wolf’s Appetite (The Lycans #8)

AISLING

I scrubbed the stone floor of the corridor harder than I needed to, my fingers raw from the brush. Not because the floor was dirty but because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Lennox.

The massive Lycan male who acted like a brute and glared at everyone and everything like he wanted to kill them.

The male who stalked the halls like he was out for blood.

And yet… I saw through it.

Weeks had passed with silent glances, under the breathgrowls, and me holding my tongue when I wanted to snap at him for his crass attitude.

And despite all reason, despite all common sense, my inner she-wolf stirred every time he looked at me. But my mating heat didn’t awaken. The need to be with my mate didn’t roar within me.

Not fully. Not in the way that I knew it should when you found your fated mate.

But something in me twisted, pulled tight, like it knew something I didn’t.

I scrubbed for another minute before sitting back on my heels and brushing the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I let out a slow breath, hating that I thought about Lennox so much.

Hated how, even when he snarled in frustration, my body responded like it wanted to inch closer to, stand next to, climb on top of Lennox. And that was a feeling I’d never experienced before. Because as a Lycan, I had zero desire to be with another being until I found my fated mate.

But Lennox didn’t just look broken—he carried it in the way he walked, the way his gaze shuttered like he couldn’t bear to be seen. And yet, when he stared at me… I felt like he saw me.

And it was the first time I felt like I was truly seen .

I reached for the bucket and stood, shaking my head because I hadn’t been able to get Lennox out of my head. “Pathetic,” I muttered to myself. “Ye’re becoming obsessed over a male who snarls and growls at ye at every opportunity. ”

I thought about the scars that littered his body, ones he tried to hide. They were the kind of wounds that didn’t just mark his skin—they lived deep in his soul. I could see that much when I looked into his blue eyes.

And gods help me, but I ached to try and reach him… like really help him find that happiness I knew he had somewhere deep down.

I carried the bucket down the hall, past the library, and toward the supply room where I could restock.

I knew he was out, had heard whispers that the king and queen insisted he speak with someone who could help.

I was sure Lennox didn’t want to speak with a therapist, but he did so to placate his family.

And because he was gone, I felt confident in cleaning his quarters. At least when he wasn’t here, I didn't have to fight the magnetism and also frustration of being near him.

I headed for his bedchamber, allowing myself to wonder what it would mean if he was my mate… and what it would mean if he wasn’t.

Because either way, I was already too far gone. And gods… that was a hard pill to swallow.