Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 53: Caine: You Can’t Camp Here

CAINE

The Lyre girl’s scent is strange, but I can’t figure it out. Jack-Eye, the idiot, doesn’t seem to mind; then again, he was always partial to women. A little too friendly, a little too willing. Far more gregarious than the typical Lycan.

I glower at Lyre’s camper, fingers digging into the cheap plastic armrests of Andrew’s folding chair. Something about that woman sets my teeth on edge. The rainbow-haired enigma kicked us out the second breakfast was over—for them. She didn’t bat an eye at our half-full plates or still-steaming coffee mugs.

Who does that to the Lycan King? More importantly, who does that to any Lycan without flinching? It’s strange.

Fenris lifts his head; he’s been moping for the past ten minutes, since he was thrown out with us. He didn’t want to leave, but Grace stared at me with her pretty grass-green eyes until I picked him up and took him with me.

My wolf is not happy with me.

She smells wrong, he mutters, apparently willing to converse when we’re talking about a mutual enemy.

"I know."

No, you don’t understand. I can’t place it. Her scent is... slippery.

The hair on my neck stands up. In over two centuries, I’ve never known Fenris to be unable to categorize a scent, but what he’s saying makes sense. I’ve noticed it, too. It’s more than not knowing what she smells like; it’s as if something’s purposely not allowing us to.

"She’s hiding something," I say, watching the camper windows for movement. No hint of shadows. What’s Grace doing? Washing dishes? Maybe she’s curled up in bed, kicking her pale legs in the air as she reads a book. "No one takes in a stranger out of kindness. Not in this world."

too. After I worked

eyebrow. "Sleeping arrangements go

doesn’t like sharing her bed. Made

image of Grace in bed—her now-golden hair splayed across a pillow, sheets twisted around her legs, and a stubborn

perk up, his massive head swinging toward me. What was that? Are you finally accepting what

a hand down my face with a groan. "No. Stop

thinking about sharing a bed with

comfortable ordering Lycans around. I even let some dominance slip this morning, and she didn’t so much as twitch." Of course, I only let out the tiniest sliver. Didn’t want to upset

not afraid of

"And what does she want

Other than you.

on Fenris’s interjection. "What do you

knows something we don’t. About Grace. About you. About

me. I’d considered obvious angles: ransom and simple human trafficking. But could it be?

she’s different.

I’m on edge and rattled, and I blame not being able to touch her. Grace had avoided any physical contact like I was some sort

from behind, and I catch the scent of Jack-Eye mingled with an unfamiliar human male. Sweat, cheap detergent, and the sour stink of fear. Yes. This is the normal response to our presence. But why did Jack-Eye bring him here?

store with such things in stock is the obvious solution, but

excuse me, gentlemen," the man says. He’s wearing a dirty white t-shirt with a handkerchief knotted around his neck. The campground logo is emblazoned across his chest. "I’m real sorry, but you can’t pitch a tent on

stretch uncomfortably. He shifts under the