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.

for

catches in my throat. Not Rafe’s voice.

Caine.

choke, sputtering as the liquid burns down the wrong pipe. My eyes tear with

commotion—heavy footsteps, a wolf’s snarl, Lyre protesting, and then there’s Caine in front of me, his giant frame overpowering the tiny camper space. He kneels by my side, eyes locked on mine, storm-gray and intense. His oversized

seize with panic. I can’t 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

my shoulder blades. The impact dislodges the soda from my airway, and I cough again, the sound

for a serial

gasp, finally drawing air. "What are you doing here?" The words are shrill and tinny, but at

my hair, my body. His nostrils flare slightly. "Your hair

he comments on my appearance. My hand flies

Lyre leans against the wall, her slitted eyes observing with unnerving calculation. She doesn’t seem afraid of Caine, which strikes

black dog pokes his head around Caine’s side with a hopeful whimper, only to have his muzzle

I blink.

killer, I’d think he’s a wounded husband hunting down his wife

Maybe it’s my imagination.

I remember from our previous encounters. The tightness around his mouth has softened, and

watching him through

my ribcage in a distracting rhythm. Blaming it on fear would be nice, but my body’s all ooh and

thinking just fine the past two days without him around, and now my hips

of pack bunny, after all? Is it possible to lust over a man’s body like I have no purpose in life beyond

slowly, giving me plenty of time to flinch away, but I’m frozen. His

soft and delicate when it comes

of his 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 a strand of my newly blonde

his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below my

strange, overly sexual connection between us fizzling. Shoving Caine’s

soft and gentle and

here?" I ask, doing my best to sound like his presence is unwanted. Which it is. Definitely. Even if my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, despite being

.

repeats, as if

It doesn’t.

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