The Secret Heirs of the Lycan King (by Misha K) novel Chapter 33

**When Midnight Winds Carry Secrets Toward Worlds Yet Unknown**

Bella

The rhythmic thrum of machinery reverberated through the construction site, a constant reminder of the chaos surrounding me. With my phone precariously balanced in one hand and a set of rolled-up blueprints tucked under my arm, I felt the weight of responsibility pressing down. The screen lit up, revealing Grandma Isla’s name. A warm flutter stirred in my chest, a brief moment of nostalgia washing over me. Just as I was about to swipe to answer, the authoritative voice of my construction lead cut through the din, pulling me back to reality.

“Ms. Williams! We need your expertise here! The new tile order doesn’t align with the design specifications!”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I cast one last longing glance at the phone. “Coming!” I called out, forcing myself to set aside the thought of Grandma for later, promising to return her call as soon as I could.

A week slipped by in a blur, each day blending into the next, and for once, life felt strangely stable. Scott had been engulfed in back-to-back meetings and late-night work marathons. He texted when he could, checking in on my meals and the twins, but his physical presence was notably absent. Oddly enough, this absence made me yearn for him more than I expected. Memories of that day in the woods kept surfacing unbidden—the way he had kissed my belly, the heat of his gaze as it traveled down my body, the raw desire radiating from him as if he wished to devour me whole.

I often found myself lost in thought during work conversations, my cheeks warming at the mere recollection. And at night, I’d awaken to find that same spark dancing behind my closed eyelids. Despite my attempts to distance myself from him, I couldn’t shake the longing that gnawed at me. What was happening to me?

I dismissed the feelings as mere foolishness. Whatever this was, it was a distraction I couldn’t afford. Scott was from a different world—one of power, authority, and an air of mystery that felt utterly unattainable. I had my own responsibilities to juggle.

As the week progressed, an odd pattern began to emerge.

Every time a plumber, electrician, or delivery man arrived at my home, they seemed to develop an uncanny rapport with my twins. It was as if my house had transformed into a playground for charming, muscular men, each one more captivating than the last.

One evening, a man with tousled dirty blonde hair arrived to fix a leaky pipe. My twins rushed to him, chatting animatedly and giggling, and before I knew it, he was doing pushups in my garden, my children perched on his back, squealing with delight.

The next day, a tall, handsome fellow with a dazzling smile and a wrench in hand announced he was there to inspect the “water flow.” Whatever that entailed, it didn’t take long before he was outside, enthusiastically helping Ryan construct an elaborate mud fort.

And it wasn’t the same men each time; there was always someone new, adding to the curious spectacle.

When I broached the subject with Nancy, she chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, they’re just friendly neighbors, Bella. Lending a hand. This neighborhood is full of nice people.”

“Right,” I replied, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Nice, shirtless, gym-obsessed people.”

She laughed heartily. “Don’t complain, dear. At least they keep the kids entertained. And don’t fret; they all have IDs and licenses to work. I keep a close watch on them.”

Yet, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that these men were up to something more than just being “friendly.” Occasionally, I’d catch one of them pretending to water my plants while his keen eyes darted toward the street, too alert for mere maintenance work. It felt absurd to think of them as security, but I couldn’t help but wonder. Perhaps I was letting my imagination run wild.

On Friday evening, I returned from the construction site around six. The air was fragrant with the scent of freshly cut grass and pizza sauce wafting from the kitchen. As I stepped into the garden, I was met with a sight that made me stop in my tracks. Half a dozen men lounged about, shirtless and flexing like they were posing for a cover of “Muscle Monthly.” Familiar faces, all of them.

Ryan let out a delighted squeal as one of them hoisted him high into the air. Emma was perched on another man’s shoulders, braiding his hair while he laughed heartily.

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