Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 32: Grace: One Last Visitor

Caine’s strange behavior takes more mental real estate than it should, but I manage to finish my dinner with him gone. Eating under pressure is a lot harder than I ever expected.

With a full stomach and nothing else to do, I curl up on the bed. My eyelids grow heavy despite lingering anxiety; will Andrew really come? Is this plan going to work? Will I be okay once I get to Sterling City? So many questions, all impossible to answer without more time.

Eventually, the soft mattress beckons me into sleep, a temporary escape from this bizarre reality.

A rough shaking wrenches me out of deep sleep, and my foggy mind registers someone’s hand on my shoulder.

"Grace, wake up."

I sit up with a yawn, stretching my arms above my head until my joints pop. The motion helps clear some of the cobwebs from my brain, but when my vision focuses, my body freezes mid-stretch, hands locked high in the air. "Rafe?"

It’s not Andrew’s face hovering in front of me, but Raphael’s. His blue eyes shine so brightly, my stomach flips. Not with cute butterflies, but in dread. His gaze is too intense, almost fanatical.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, scrambling backward until I hit the wall. The distance between us isn’t nearly enough.

Rafe’s pine-and-earth scent, once thrilling and now rather generic, fills my nostrils, bringing unwelcome memories. His golden hair catches the light from the bedside lamp, creating a halo effect that seems laughably inappropriate given our recent past. How can someone so cruel look so much like someone’s fantasy of a hero?

"I needed to see you before you leave for Forest Springs." He sits on the edge of my bed like he belongs there, reaching for my hand. "Andrew will be here soon."

I almost blurt out that Forest Springs is the last place I’d willingly go, but snap my mouth shut. He doesn’t know about the change in plans; it’s strange, but I’m not complaining about it. It’s better this way.

Though, there’s always the possibility Andrew lied just to appease me. I guess I’ll find out soon.

"Why would you need to see me?" I ask instead, pulling my knees to my chest and keeping my hands out of his reach.

His expression darkens as he takes his hand back, his brows drawing together. "Of course it’s because I care about you, Gracie. I haven’t been able to see you since they murdered our people. I was worried."

The audacity makes my jaw clench. His hands gesture between us as he continues.

see, Grace." He leans closer, earnestness radiating from him like heat. If my IQ was single digits, maybe I’d even believe in it. "Ellie understands now. And soon, the Blue Mountain Pack will be officially mine. It’s only a matter of

pack is

His hands reach for me again, but I

say, my voice flat. "Before you ruin

I have a little time.

space between us feels charged with something toxic—his delusional hope and my simmering resentment. A

"Rafe, please—"

against my neck. The touch sends

true to me," he says with a strange, overly soft smile. "Refusing the Lycan King’s advances. Such a brave girl, my

Caine... for him? A laugh bursts from my throat, sharp and incredulous. His delusions

misinterpret it, because he steps forward, arms opening for an embrace as his

own feet. Now I’m between him and the door, which is

features before

No.

only no, but hell

the King will go crazy," I say, grasping for any excuse

hair, sighing dramatically. "You’re right. Of course, you’re right." His shoulders slump as he glances at me, his eyes wide and pathetic. It’s his

Now, it’s childish.

steps around me, but his shoulder bumps against mine. The backs of our hands touch for a split second, but I try not to flinch. He’s doing

wanting me

only for a second before moving toward the door. His hand rests

from his lips with weighty significance, as if he’s delivering

don’t bother responding, turning my back instead as I walk toward my bathroom. When I

Thank. Fucking. God.

Hunt, and the way he treated me the moment his fated mate appeared? Such thick skin he has, acting as if none of it happened—like I should be

shifters are

random shapes and colors bloom behind my eyelids. Rafe’s

on my face, trying to wash away the lingering disgust. The mirror seems to emphasize the dark circles under my eyes, but at