Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 39: Grace: How Can You Miss It?

Over the next two days, Lyre drags her camper—and me—across the country. It’s actually only across one state line, but it’s still farther than I’ve ever traveled before.

The driving itself isn’t long each day; Lyre says she never drives more than three hundred miles a day when she’s hauling a camper. Still, the routine is more tiring than I expect.

And Andrew follows behind every step of the way, clearly obsessed with keeping his eye on me. I’m sure it’s to tell Rafe where I am, but it isn’t like a new Alpha can just wander across the country to take me back.

Still, it’s not a great feeling to know you’re being essentially stalked. He doesn’t hide what he’s doing, but he isn’t not doing it, either...

The high noon sun is bright and merciless, which means the camper’s going to be an oven when we finally make it to our stop tonight. We still have another hundred miles to drive before finding a rest stop tonight.

"Food run," Lyre announces, exiting the highway. "They have a dump station here, too. Why don’t you order while I get some diesel and clear out the tanks?"

I’ve learned a lot in the past forty-eight hours, and most of it involves how much work is involved in keeping a camper convenient. Like toilets. I never really thought about where waste goes when you flush, but it’s not as though we have plumbing in the parking lots of giant retail conglomerates.

We have a supply of fresh water for hygiene and dishes, but we also have separate drinking water. And tanks beneath the RV somewhere, magically holding all the gross stuff until we make it to a dump site. Lyre keeps talking about full hook-ups when we get to her friend’s place in Yellowstone, which will make our lives easier, but so far I haven’t had to lift a finger. Lyre does all the work.

"Got it. Bacon cheeseburger?"

I push open the passenger door, my blonde hair—still strange to see in mirrors—blowing across my face, thanks to the strong breeze. It smells like gasoline and fried food, which is now synonymous with freedom in my head.

"Give me about twenty minutes," Lyre calls after me. "Get something for me too. Nothing with pickles."

I nod and slip her credit card into my pocket. The first time she handed it to me, I’d stared at the plastic rectangle like it might burn my fingers. Now it feels normal, even as guilt gnaws at me for using a stranger’s money.

The automatic doors slide open with a mechanical hiss, cool air-conditioned comfort wrapping around me as I step inside. The cashier barely glances up from her magazine—another blessing of human society. No nostrils flaring to catch my scent, no scowls when they see I don’t belong. Even Lyre, with her rainbow hair, wouldn’t get a second look.

It’s so... anonymous

. I love it.

But I need to find a job soon. Lyre’s generosity has limits, even if she hasn’t mentioned them. Strange how someone who seems so detached can be so thoughtful—letting me use her card, teaching me how to dye my hair, taking me in without asking for anything in return.

If angel shifters existed, she’d probably be one.

There’s a giant fast food restaurant taking up a third of the building. Several truckers are already scattered around, and there’s a mom with a toddler in the back corner.

So wholesome. So human.

bastion of human society is Andrew, five steps behind me. He pulled into the gas

large fries, and..." I pause, remembering Lyre’s aversion to pickles. "And make sure there’s

this time. We haven’t exchanged a word since I told him I wasn’t going back to

stalked is not pleasant, but

kidding? It’s weird and

take the card and receipt and walk as casually as I can to the bathroom. It’s always good to visit

orange-scented cleaner. Not pleasant, but at least Andrew’s eyeballs aren’t drilling

done, and I keep the water running for a while as I stand in front

seems to be more cool than neutral and my blonde is a little too warm, but I don’t really get it. In theory, I understand her words and the concept of warm and cool undertones. In practice? My skin just looks like

in the

open the bathroom door, only to jump back when I nearly collide

he frowns down at me. "I was

is the

seriously waiting outside the women’s bathroom?" I hiss, glancing around

own lives, and nobody cares about what’s happening in this

on his face. "I’m just making

"In the women’s bathroom?"

have

hands in an attempt to keep myself from screaming in frustration, I count my breaths. He remains silent

"I wouldn’t have stayed—"

I snap, "That’s not the

before he finally mutters, "I

Andrew being the one in the wrong, I’m the one who feels guilty. "Just—stay away from me. Go back

he says stubbornly, staring over my head

him

where my order’s

have

tray with our food and head to the table furthest away from any strangers. Another

line. These aren’t bad experiences, but Andrew’s soured my mood, and I have no interest in looking at

Except Lyre’s, of course.

the chair at the table directly next

me before I can stop it. I’ve lived with wolves long enough to know what this is—territory marking. He’s making sure everyone knows I’m under