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

LENNOX

T he walls of the estate felt like they were closing in on me. It was as if the weight of something I couldn’t name had its hands wrapped around my throat.

The sight of her–the scent of Aisling–had this primal, intense feeling rising up in me and I couldn't control it. I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.

I had to get out, had to breathe air that wasn’t heavy with the scent of her. It made me want to tear my skin from my bones.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I saw was her . Her soft curves and sharp tongue. Her sweet aroma that still clung to my senses.

There was no way I would find peace tonight. Not in these halls. Not in my ancestral home. And yet, she was all I could think about.

I left through the side door, boots crunching on the gravel path as I stalked toward the woods that bordered the estate. I sensed the sentries around the property, silent guardians watching over the royal family—my family—ever the ready to tear out the throats of those who posed a threat.

The moon was high, casting silver light over the dark shapes of the trees.

I’d spent countless nights out here since the accident just trying to gather my thoughts and figure out what the fuck was happening with me.

But since the day I woke up and realized my wolf—the one part of me that had always been there—was gone, I’d felt nothing but this hollowness.

I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth clashed together. My hands curled into fists at my sides as my frustration tried to break the surface and dominate the last shred of control I had.

No’ tonight, fooker.

I pushed that anger back, and instantly, the silence inside me remained a black void where my wolf should’ve been.

The sentries stayed silent and hidden in the shadows, no doubt sensing my rage. I moved farther into the woods, my boots sinking into soft earth, the night air cold on my face.

The scent of pine, moss, and damp soil filled my nose, and I breathed in, letting that cool air coat my lungs. Being out here—surrounded by nature—had always been so…familiar. I’d felt at home out here as much as I did in the castle.

But now, I felt lost. This all felt foreign.

I didn’t know how long I walked, but when I stopped, I was in a small clearing. I closed my eyes, lifted my face to the night sky, and tried again— willed him and myself—to rise up and take control.

Gods… fooking hell.

Nothing. But still I tried. I reached deep, searching for my Lycan’s presence that had always been part of me. My other half. An internal instinct that was a seventh sense.

I no longer had my Lycan power, his feral rage and protectiveness.

I called to him in my mind, but there was no answer back. My breathing grew rough, my chest tight.

Nothing but damn silence and a hollow ache.

For months now, I’d been wracking my brain trying to figure out why my wolf had gone silent after the injury. I knew many Lycans who’d gotten injured and never had their inner animal leave.

The scarring that covered me didn’t matter. My flesh could’ve been torn to shreds, and I wouldn’t have cared as long as I still had my wolf.

Was it the trauma? Had I been weak and that’s why he’d turned his back on me? Or had something in that fight—something I hadn’t seen, hadn’t felt—broken us apart in a way that couldn’t be repaired?

I got down on my haunches and sank my fingers into the cool, damp earth. The rage built in me until I trembled from the force of it. My breaths came out in ragged gasps. I wanted to roar, to tear at the ground until my fingers bled and there was nothing left beneath me.

I stayed there, hunched over in the moonlight, fingers deep in the soil like I could root myself and find answers from the earth beneath me.

And instead of the voice of my wolf… instead of the connection I ached for…

All I could think about was her .

Aisling.

She calmed the storm brewing in me.

I pictured the soft flush of her cheeks when I got too close and it made her fidgety. I thought about the way her chest rose and fell too fast when she tried to act unaffected.

I inhaled, still able to smell the scent of her skin—clean linen and something wild underneath. Something female and intoxicating .

Gods. What was wrong with me?

This wasn’t about her. It couldn’t be. She was just a distraction. A complication. She wasn’t my mate—my wolf would’ve known, would’ve made himself known and roared the truth the first time we met.

Right?

She haunted me in the best—most frustrating—way.

Why did I want to go back inside and find her, bury my face in her hair, take her scent into my body until she marked me like I wanted to mark her?

A low growl left my chest at the thought of her covered in my claw and bite marks.

I was losing myself. And I didn’t know how to get back to who I was before.

I stayed in the woods so long my skin prickled from the cold, and my legs ached from crouching, and I realized one monumental thing.

The only thing filling the silence and void in me was… her .