Page 5 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

“Puget Sound.” Dad pointed to the screen. “Here. He’s going to attack the other one.”

The video flickered, and the scene changed to a moonlit beach. A moment later, the same massive, buff-colored wolf from the first part of the video streaked down the sand and launched itself at a clump of shadows. Except the shadows weren’t shadows at all. As the wolf tumbled across the beach, I realized it grappled with a second wolf. My heart thumped painfully as the fight unfolded. Once again, there was no sound, but this time I was grateful for it. Blood sprayed the sand as the wolves slashed and bit at each other. The second wolf was smaller, with shaggy black fur. It was obviously fighting for its life.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice hoarse as a sense of doom slipped around me. The video couldn’t be real. Clearly, my father had used some kind of editing software. But it wasn’t like him. The video quality was too good for my father’s woeful tech skills. He had a hard time remembering his Facebook login.

“Almost done,” he said. “This is the best part.”

On the screen, the smaller wolf lunged at the larger wolf. The larger wolf spun away, moving so quickly its body blurred. The next second, the smaller wolf sprawled on the sand, its head severed from its body. Blood pumped from the stump of its neck, the color black in the moonlight. The video stopped, freezing on a frame of the buff-colored wolf standing over the black wolf’s decapitated body.

Nausea burned my throat. My knees loosened, and I sat heavily in my chair, making the metal squeak in protest.

My father’s expression was triumphant. “Do you see what I mean now?” He gestured to the screen. “Every news outlet in the world is going to be clamoring for this.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get it. How did you make this?”

Dad’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t make it, Harper. I recorded it as it happened. Everything you just saw is one hundred percent real. This is definitive proof that werewolves exist. It’s going to change the world. That’s why I wanted you home. Once this story breaks, our lives are never going to be the same.”

For a second, I could only stare at him. Then I made my tone as gentle as possible. “Dad, I know you still miss Mom. Have you been, um, taking anything?”

“You mean like drugs?” His gaze sharpened, the air of excitement giving way to an intensity that pinned me to my chair. Suddenly, he was the Orson Ward of old. Pulitzer Prize winner. Renowned reporter who’d broken major stories on six continents. The investigative journalist courted by The New York Times and a dozen other newspapers. But no one had ever been able to tempt him to leave the Sentinel. No matter how many accolades he earned, he’d stayed loyal to our family’s paper.

My father gave me the stare that had cowed dictators and corrupt captains of industry. “To answer your question, no, I’m not on drugs or any other kind of mind-altering substance.”

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t mean?—”

“I know this footage is difficult to believe.” My father flashed a rueful smile. “Considering what happened in the past, I can’t blame you for doubting me. But the video is real.” He leaned over his desk again. “This is on level with an alien invasion, Harper. Once the world finds out werewolves live among us, people are going to have questions. I’m going to give them answers.”

Silence fell, the only sound the patter of rain on the windows. He seemed so sure of himself. The video was obviously fake, but there was no question he believed it. “How will you do that?” I asked. “Give answers, I mean.”

Dad’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m going to interview the werewolf in the video. He’ll be here in about an hour.”

The distant slam of a door split the air. Dad frowned, his gaze shooting to the office’s doorway. Alarm shot through me, and I craned my head, following my father’s gaze. Heavy footfalls rang out.

I stood so quickly the lawn chair rocked backward and almost tipped before settling. I whipped my head toward my father. “What’s going on?”

The footfalls grew louder. Closer. Dad rose, then backed away from his desk. My throat went dry, and my heart galloped in my chest. I looked around for a weapon, but the office was empty except for my father’s desk and the lawn chairs.

My father stared at the door, his face as ashen as the sky outside. “I… I don’t…”

A tall, muscular man strode through the door. My jaw dropped as I took in dark blond hair and ruggedly handsome features. Broad shoulders and piercing silver eyes.

But they’d turned gold when he shifted in the video.

The man stalked forward, vaulted over my father’s desk, and gripped him around the throat. My scream bounced off the walls as I stumbled backward. My foot caught the side of my backpack, and I stumbled again before catching myself.

Phone. I had to get to my phone. I started forward?—

“I wouldn’t, Miss Ward,” a second man said as he stepped into the room. Lean and dark-haired, he looked about my age. He stopped in the center of the office and folded his hands at his waist. Despite the threat in his words, his face was kind, and his expression was almost apologetic as he added, “Prince Einar prefers to handle this without bloodshed.”

My father made a gurgling sound as the man from the video lifted him by the throat and slammed him against the wall where a bookcase had once stood. Large windows on either side showed the rain coming down harder outside.

“Stop!” I screamed, moving around the desk. “He’s”—I searched for a way to make the man stop his attack—“he has a heart condition.”

The man, who was apparently called Einar, turned his head and met my gaze. His nostrils flared, almost as if he scented the air. After a beat, his silver eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s a lie.” He turned back to my father. “Dishonesty runs in the family. How charming.”

Red crept up my father’s face as he clawed at the man’s wrist. “Let…me…go…” He dug his fingernails into Einar’s skin, leaving bloody furrows.

Einar grunted. A second later, buff-colored fur rushed over his hand. Between one breath and the next, his arm transformed into an overly large wolf’s paw with long, black claws. Einar leaned forward, and the claws sank into my father’s throat.

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