Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 52: Grace: Muffin

Lyre was right.

Fenris hides under the dinette table as I vacuum black fur off the daybed comforter. I’d tried to kick him out when I woke up to a furry, dead weight on my feet, but he’s ultimately too heavy to drag out the door.

The vacuum roars as I attack another patch of black fur. Every swipe feels like a tiny rebellion against the wolf—against Caine—against this whole ridiculous situation. If I can’t control anything else in my life, at least I can eliminate this evidence of unwanted company.

A pathetic whimper sounds from behind me, followed by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a tail against the camper’s floor. I refuse to turn around. Fenris might look like an oversized puppy right now, but he’s not. He’s a full-grown wolf, and he knows exactly what he did wrong.

I shut off the vacuum with more force than necessary. The sudden silence feels accusatory.

"You should get dressed." Lyre doesn’t look up from her phone, just sips her coffee, her rainbow hair catching the morning light through the windows. "They’ll be here soon."

My stomach drops, and I groan. "Do I have to?"

Last night’s dreams flash through my mind—fragments of nightmares where I was locked in a stone tower, my blonde hair grown long like Rapunzel’s, watching the world through a tiny window. But worse than those were the other dreams—the ones where Caine’s hands weren’t dragging me away but pulling me close, his mouth not speaking threats but...

Heat crawls up my neck.

"Unless you want to greet the Lycan King in your pajamas." Lyre sounds utterly unconcerned. "Which, honestly, might be a power move."

I’m not sure how pajamas equal power, but I grab one of Lyre’s old band t-shirts and a pair of stretchy shorts and take them with me to the bathroom. Five minutes later, I’m back out, second-guessing the shorts. But my jeans are dirty, and Lyre’s don’t fit.

"Weren’t we supposed to go to—" I stop, frowning at Fenris. "You know, away?"

Lyre finally looks up, her slitted eyes unreadable. "It would just be a waste of money at this point."

"What?"

"Gas. Food. Lodging." She ticks off each item on her fingers. "All expensive. And for what? He’s not going to let you go so easily."

Ugh.

I’m not sure why Caine’s even hunting me down, but after last night, it’s pretty clear he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Maybe he thinks I’m trying to take over the Blue Mountain Pack or something. Taint it with half-human, half-shifter babies? He seems pretty obsessed with bringing up my relationship to Rafe, and now he’s worried about Andrew, too.

"That makes sense," I mumble.

"What does?"

I figured out why Caine’s hunting me down. Werewolves are purists, you know? They don’t like it when humans mix with their pack. Even before everything went south, it was pretty rough

bunching together. She seems concerned more than interested. Maybe she’s worried about me. "Okay.

are lighter than others. "I’m thinking Caine’s worried I’ll try to... I don’t

Lyre, who only has bits and pieces of my backstory. "Rafe’s the new alpha of the pack," I add helpfully

She nods slowly. "Okay..."

Shifters are obsessed with purity, right? So it makes sense he’d be suspicious

expression doesn’t change, but something about her stillness makes me feel like I’m being dissected. "This is the

it’s just a working

why would he think you’re trying to take

mouth, close it, then fall back against my pillow. She’s right. It makes no

Fenris huffs.

fingers through my hair with enough force to make my scalp sting. "I just don’t get it, then. Why

get good grades

catches me

remains blank. "In school. Were

I did okay, I

Then it’s just

sharp knocks rap against the door.

without spilling a drop of coffee. "Breakfast’s here," she announces, moseying her way to the

most of the morning light, and Lyre seems

can see Andrew cleaning up his camp site. The tent’s still up,

way you all fit in that tent together," Lyre says, plucking a to-go

white boxes. "Andrew and

person outside. I wonder if they got to eat breakfast

opening each container as he does so. White toast, as requested. Eggs—both

get my plate. With two

recoils when she sees

over his heart, as if her words mortally wounded him. "Mademoiselle. French toast

eggs on her plate. "Bread that’s been dunked in eggs and milk

elevated to a higher form of existence." Jack-Eye points

makes a gagging noise. "Just say what it is.

frowns. "Are

Lyre says, unfazed. "Are