Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 9 I continue the long drive to my grandmother's with a full tank. After hours on the road, I finally arrive in the sleepy town. where my grandmother lives. As I pull up in front of the rundown house, I wonder if my grandmother will even remember me. It has been years since we last saw each other, back when I was just a child. What if she doesn't want to see me? Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I climb out of my car and walk toward the house. The paint is peeling, and the once-green lawn is overgrown with weeds. As I approach the front door, I feel a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. I know that seeking refuge with my grandmother is a long shot, but it's the only chance I have to escape the nightmare I've been living in. With each step, I hope that my grandmother will recognizeand takein, offering a safe haven from the betrayal that has left my world in tatters.

I quickly cover the car, placing hay bales in front of it and covering it over with a tarp. Once done, I take a deep breath. before stepping out of the gate and onto the street. My heart races with nerves as I walk up to her front door and knock.

I wait anxiously for what feels like an eternity, listening for any sounds of movement inside. Finally, I hear shuffling, and the door creaks open. My grandmother's frail figure appears in the doorway, her once-sparkling eyes now clouded with age. She squints at me, and for a moment, I fear she won't recognize me.

"Aubrey?" she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "Ist O < Chapter 9 that you?" 11 299 Wouthen A wave of relief washes overas I nod, tears pricking my eyes. "Yes, Grandma, it's me," I reply, my voice shaking.

"What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" Tears spill down my cheeks as relief floods throughat seeing her familiar face.

"I had nowhere else to go," I sob out as she ushersinside and onto the couch.

I glance around the small living room, feeling a sense of unease settling in my stomach. The house's disrepair is evident in every corner, from the peeling wallpaper to the worn floorboards that groan beneath my feet. The scent of dampness and mildew fills the air, a constant reminder of the poverty and neglect that my grandmother has endured for far too long.

I lower myself onto the worn-out sofa, its cushions dipping under my weight, and I can't help but notice how everything in the room speaks of years gone by. My eyes, however, are fixed on the woman across from me. Granny's slender fingers wrap around her inhaler with an intimate familiarity that tugs at my heart. She draws in a slow breath, and the soft hiss of the device is the only sound for a brief moment.

She exhales heavily, her chest rattling like the old windows when the wind gets fierce. “I'm sorry you have to seelike this, dear,” she says, a smile playing weakly on her lips, not quite reaching the worry etched in the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

The apology hangs awkwardly in the space between us, and I feel a pang of something-guilt, maybe, or regret- that I push O < down deep inside. There's no room for pity here; not for her, not for myself. Granny's always had a steel backbone, event now as age seeks to bend her.

I reach over and gently take her hand, feeling the frailty of her bones beneath the thin skin. "There's no need to apologize, Grandma. I'm just glad I am here now so I can help you; it'swho should be apologizing for not noticing you needed help here," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I squeeze her hand.

She shakes her head, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and pats my hand with a tenderness that is both comforting and heartbreaking. "You've got your own life, child,” she murmurs, but there's no censure in her voice, just the quiet resignation of someone who has learned to rely on themself alone.

"Would you liketo get you anything?" I ask, eager to be of use, to do something-anything-that might ease the lines of fatigue etched into her face. She pauses, considering, then shakes her head once more.

"And you're sure I can stay here?" The question slips out, laced with a hint of desperation. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, acutely aware if she says no I have nowhere else to go.

"Of course, dear," she replies, her voice firm despite the weariness I hear behind it. "This is your htoo." Her words. wrap around me, offering a semblance of safety I hadn't realized I was craving until this very moment.

"But you'll have to register with the council here. All rogues have to," Granny's voice is matter-of-fact, but it sends a jolt of fear through me.

4820 < Chapter "Register?" The word tastes like poison on my tongue. I can't help but worry that it would lead Rhett right to this doorstep. My pulse quickens at the thought. I bite my lip, casting at glance around the small, cozy living room, taking in the faded wallpaper and the comforting scent of Granny's lavender sachets. How can I leave her now, after seeing the frailness in her eyes? No, I won't be like my mother; I refuse to abandon her. Sluck, just a sliver of it, might keephidden here in plain sight.

Granny watches me, her gaze heavy with concern. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem anxious," she asks, her voice soft as a whisper.

I muster what strength I have left and paint a smile on my face. "I'm fine, just tired from the drive," I my voice doesn't "Ilie, hoping the tremor I feel inside. The sting of being rejected by my fated mate. It's a rare shame, one that might make Granny think less of me, or worse, believe I'm broken in sfundamental way.

She studiesfor a moment longer, her eyes sharp as if she's peering straight into my soux But then, mercifully, she lets it go and shifts the conversation. "How are things going with your life, Aubrey?"

The mention of my life-of him-tightens something in my chest. I swallow hard, struggling to keep my composure. "Ah, I'm fine Granny...-" The sound of a knock cuts through the room, slicing off my words. I'm on my feet before I know it, heart hammering against my ribs. My eyes dart to the door, and Grandma must sense I'm in trouble because she points to the linen cupboard. Another knock, louder, more insistent.

72.72% Vouchers "Open the door!" The voice is unmistakably Nathan's, edged with a sternness that sends a tremor through me.

Chapter 10.

288 douchers Chapter 10