Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 48: Grace: Different Wavelengths

Lyre’s hand twitches as whoever it is knocks again, right before her fingers touch the door handle.

Her head jerks back as she scowls, before dropping her arm and stepping back. Leaning against the opposite wall, she crosses her arms and counts silently, her lips moving with each number.

Her confidence is enough to instill awe. I can’t imagine a time I’ve ever felt as if I could just stand in front of a door as someone impatiently knocks, without answering.

And yet it makes all the sense in the world. This is her home. Her sanctuary. Who dares come knocking like this?

I want to be more like her.

"I’m grabbing a soda. Want one?" I whisper, slipping past her to the tiny kitchen nook.

Lyre shakes her head, still counting. I watch her lips move as she mouths, "Forty-two... forty-three..."

The knocking grows more insistent. Harder. Louder. The RV shakes with each impact, swaying gently underfoot. The first night, I’d been mildly seasick over the feeling. Now, I’m used to it.

After pulling a cold can from the fridge, I slide into one of the dinette seats, facing the door. From here, I can’t see the door, but I can watch Lyre’s methodical resistance.

"Eighty-six... eighty-seven..." She hasn’t even glanced at the door again, her eyes closed as her lips continue to move soundlessly.

I’m sure it’s Rafe out there, and am only surprised he isn’t yelling and demanding for us to open up at this point.

Then again, it isn’t like he knows Lyre, and we’re in the middle of a human settlement, even if it isn’t permanent homes. It would be awkward if the human authorities were called, I’m sure. We’re far out of pack range; I have no idea whose territory we are in now, actually.

It isn’t as if I was never taught about other territories, but there are so many, and I had no reason to be interested in packs so far from ours. Only our neighbors and some of the larger packs are familiar names.

"Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred." Lyre pushes off from the wall and strolls to the door with deliberate slowness.

The knocking has become pounding now, the thin door shuddering in its frame.

Lyre yanks it open. "Yes?" Her voice could freeze a desert in an instant. "What exactly is so important that you felt entitled to damage my property?"

I take a long sip of cold soda, relishing the sweetness. Let Rafe stew out there. Let him explain himself to someone who doesn’t care about his excuses. I’m looking forward to it; Lyre doesn’t seem like the kind of person to deal with his arrogant attitude.

looking for Grace

soda catches in my throat. Not Rafe’s voice. It’s

Caine.

the liquid burns down the wrong

frame overpowering the tiny camper space. He kneels by my side, eyes locked on mine, storm-gray and intense. His oversized hand whacks at my back as if I’m choking on a peanut and not a

breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stare at the Lycan King who murdered Alpha Brax kneeling in front of me in this ridiculous rainbow camper

hand connects with my back again, delivering a firm smack between my shoulder blades. The impact dislodges the soda from my airway, and I cough again, the sound much less wet

His voice sounds strangely gentle for a serial killer

here?" The words are shrill and tinny, but at

my body. His

my appearance. My hand flies self-consciously to my now-blonde strands.

She doesn’t

strangely familiar black dog pokes his head around Caine’s side with a hopeful

I blink.

if I didn’t know he’s a psychotic serial killer, I’d think he’s a wounded husband hunting down his wife after coming home to signed divorce papers or

Maybe it’s my imagination.

things right now. My mind’s even insisting his stare lacks the razor-sharp edge I remember from our previous encounters. The tightness around his mouth has softened, and

I’m watching him through some kind of

hammering against my ribcage in a

past two days without him around, and now my hips

all? Is it possible to

to flinch away, but I’m frozen. His fingers brush against my cheek with

so soft and delicate when it

thumb skims my skin with such delicacy it might as well be a whisper. My eyelids flutter against my will as his touch travels to

my ear, his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below

between us fizzling. Shoving Caine’s hand away, I blink a

looks all soft and gentle and not murderous, which

like his presence is unwanted. Which it is. Definitely. Even if my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, despite being marked

.

left," he repeats, as if that

It doesn’t.

black dog—no, wolf—peeks around Caine again with a soft whine,