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

in my throat. Not Rafe’s voice. It’s deeper.

Caine.

burns down the wrong pipe.

giant frame overpowering the tiny camper space. He kneels by my side, eyes locked

do anything but stare at the Lycan King who murdered Alpha Brax kneeling in front of me

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

okay?" His voice sounds strangely gentle for a serial killer who’s hunted down

The words are shrill

hair, my

appearance. My

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

pokes his head around Caine’s side with a hopeful whimper,

I blink.

think he’s a wounded

Maybe it’s my imagination.

from our previous encounters. The tightness around his mouth has softened, and the crease in

him through some kind

out all these strange thoughts. It’s hard to think clearly, and my heart keeps hammering against my ribcage in a distracting rhythm. Blaming it on fear would be nice, but my body’s all ooh and ahh over his damn cologne-ad smell, which is

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

possible to lust over a man’s body like I have no purpose in life beyond being

me plenty of time to flinch away, but I’m frozen. His fingers brush against my cheek

sounding so soft and delicate when

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

his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below my

and I jump, the strange, overly sexual connection between us fizzling. Shoving Caine’s hand away, I blink a few times to

gentle and not murderous,

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 marked

.

he repeats, as if

It doesn’t.

around Caine again with a