Page 40 of Lycan’s Hunt

Chapter 17

• King Soren •

There is a sinking feeling in my stomach, something telling me everything is wrong, an intuition that she is in trouble. I haven’t felt this stomach dropping feeling since Max went missing or when my wife died. I knew that feeling back then and I ignored it, and I have regretted that day ever since. Had I truly listened to my gut, listened to the change in the air and that nervous energy that radiated from her.. She was nervous but insistent that I still go, saying we would talk about something when I returned, that she needed to be sure of something first.

We never had whatever conversation it was that had her on edge and I often wonder what it is she had to say. Now I fear history is to repeat itself, that there will be no final words from Bree, that all I will have to remember her by is her last text message. That can’t be the last thing I get from her, I need her. Despite what she has done, I’d rather have something to build back up again than to have something to regret. I’m not naive, I know my feelings will change, that distrust will take over once I find her but for now I’d rather have her home safe and be angry with her, then hurt or worse.

Frustrated, I tap my phone screen again, the harsh blue light illuminating my face in the dim light of the car. Still nothing from Bree. The silence is deafening, each passing second feeling like an eternity as we drive through the night.

“Soren, honey, maybe you should try to relax,” my mother says softly, her brow furrowed with concern, her voice coming through the Bluetooth speakers of the dash that is connected to Damian’s phone, her face peering at me through the small screen.

I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes from the device. “I can’t, Mom. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” She looks at me worriedly through the phone and unable to take her gaze, I peer away.

“You’ll find her son,” she tells me, and I nod. I don’t doubt finding her, I’m just worried about the condition she’ll be in when I do.

“You are not the only one worried about her, she probably just needs time, just worried about her father,” she adds. The nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach says otherwise.

My father clears his throat, his deep voice steady but tinged with worry. “Son, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Give her some time,” he says, and Mother moves over slightly so I can see him on Damian’s phone.

“Grandma!” Max calls out from the background somewhere. My mother glances over her shoulder, and I see my son rubbing his eyes. She sighs heavily. “That lasted all of two seconds,” she mutters before handing the phone to my father. I had tried reading him a book over the phone but like I suspected, the moment he could no longer hear my voice he woke.

“Max, you are supposed to be sleeping,” my mother starts, My father peers over at them and my mother picks him up coming over to my father with Max perched on her hip.

“Anyway as I was saying, Soren, you’ll find her. I will also spread word about her missing; she has been all over the news, she has nowhere to hide.”

“I’m not worried about her hiding, I… I can’t explain it.” I tell him. It’s just this knowing I have. I know Bree, she would have replied by now, she would have called. Even if it was just to check on Max.

As much as I want to believe my father, the knot in my stomach only tightens.

“We know you care about her, sweetheart. Sometimes people need space, though,” my mother adds.

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. They don’t get it. They don’t know Bree like I do. My mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the last. What if she’s hurt? What if something happened to her father? What if—

Max’s humming cuts through my spiraling thoughts as he hums along to the TV in the background before the tune playing from the ad stops abruptly, cutting to some news article.

“Try to get him back to bed, we’ll call if we hear anything. He should be asleep.” I still can’t shake the feeling something is terribly wrong.

“Hey, I know him,” Max says, pointing at the TV. My mother glances over and I see the news anchor, who is on for late night news every night.

“Hmm, yes, sweetie,” my mother answers. “We should get you to bed.”

“But, Grandma, I saw the blood sucker, he…” his words trail off his brows crease and my father shakes his head.

“Poor boy, I hope he doesn’t have night terrors,” my father mutters.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, you can steal Pop’s side,” my mother tells Max and my father’s lips part. He huffs. “I happen to like my spleen, your mother clearly does not, call us if you need us,” my father grumbles, as Max talks about some blood sucker as he calls the news anchor from the TV. He has his wires crossed because that man is werewolf; I’ve seen his face on the news and even at the council. My father bids goodbye, hanging up the phone.

“Pull over,” I tell Damian and he does, stopping on the grass alongside the highway. I shove open my door, pocketing my phone. “I need some air,” I announce, climbing out. The moment I do, the wind is whipping at my face, and we are surrounded by utter darkness. The trees in the distance creak from the wind as their branches twist and bend, the grass laying flat and springing back with each gust.

The cool night air is a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside the car and the annoyance radiating off of Damian. He reckons I’m wasting my time, yet time will never be enough when it comes to Bree. She is my time, the time worth tracking without her is pointless. I am pointless. She taught me to love again when I thought I would spend the rest of my life hollow. She filled the cracks I thought were bottomless.

Damian stops the engine and climbs out, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. “Soren!” he calls out across the roof of the car. I glance at him biting back a growl, worried he will add his two cents worth on this situation but he only holds up his packet of smokes. I nod once and he tosses me the packet. I hardly smoke however I could damn well use one right now. I catch the packet and he tosses me the lighter.

“Maybe she’s busy running?” my brother suggests, his voice carrying over the wind that has picked up marginally. “You know how she gets when she’s stressed.”

“No. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like this without a reason. By now, she would’ve calmed down enough to take my calls. She would have checked on Max.”

Damian draws on his smoke and I light my own, taking a huge drag on it and coughing at its harshness. “So we find her then what? The media will tear you apart if you still marry her.”