Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 55: Grace: Sympathy For a Wolf

Lyre won’t stop staring in the direction of Andrew’s camp lot, even after closing the blinds. She can’t even see through the black fabric, so I’m not sure why she keeps looking over there.

Every few minutes, she lifts the blinds and peeks underneath, only to close them again. But she’s so nonchalant about it, like it’s something people do on a daily basis.

It’s not. Even I know that.

I’m about to ask her what she’s looking for when she suddenly drops her head with a long, heavy sigh that makes me jump.

"Your boyfriend’s lost it." Her voice sounds almost bored, but her fingers tap rapidly against her thigh.

I blink, and my stomach plummets to the vicinity of my toes. "Rafe’s my ex. Is he really here?"

Lyre turns to me with an expression so flat it could level mountains. Her left eyebrow wings up after a few seconds, and her tapping speeds up.

It seems like I’m missing something.

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"I never thought I’d feel sympathy for a wolf." Her nose wrinkles. "Yet here we are."

This doesn’t sound good. "Is Caine... Did he... is Rafe dead?"

I step closer, a little panicked now. Much like Andrew, I don’t really want Rafe’s life on my hands. I also never want to see him again. Obviously, his death would fulfill my wish, but it would leave me with a whole ton of guilt I’m not willing to shoulder.

Guilt means remembering.

I don’t want to remember any of it.

Lyre raises her hand, palm out, and I freeze. "Stop. Just stop talking." Her eyes flick toward the door, then back to me, still tapping away. "I guess I need to move things along before this gets worse."

"Before what

gets worse?"

But Lyre doesn’t answer; you’d think I’d be getting used to it by now. I’m not. Instead, she straightens her spine, squares her shoulders, and marches directly to the door. I barely have time to process what’s happening before she shoves it open with enough force it slams against the side of the camper.

"Stop that," she commands to whoever’s outside. "Grace can’t breathe."

My hands fly to my throat reflexively. I look down at my chest as if I might actually see my lungs malfunctioning, but... everything seems normal? My breathing is steady, if a bit quick with anxiety. I’m not gasping or struggling for air.

I peer around Lyre’s slim frame and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The beta is on his knees, but the

second to recognize what’s happening. I’ve already seen it once before, after

to kneel, no difficulty breathing. No hint of Caine’s dominance touches me. Or Lyre,

makes a shooing gesture behind her back. I guess my

Caine says, sounding

set in a stern line. She holds a palm up, mouthing "stay right here" before backing down the camper steps. She does it with such

hear what’s happening outside, but the wind

is inside. Don’t you

talking to Caine? Or is she talking to Rafe? And if it is Rafe, where is he? I didn’t

only to verify Lyre is talking to

the stairs sways the RV. When

behind him; he

much for being on my side. First Fenris, now Lyre,

storm clouds, and his jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear his teeth grinding

inch of him radiates

me, and

a squeak anything else, but he doesn’t respond, much

for obstacles. The small space of the camper suddenly feels like a trap. My lower back hits

Nowhere to run.

I can dodge sideways, Caine’s hands shoot out. He yanks me against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. One arm bands around my waist like steel while the other hand cradles the back of my head, yanking it to the side as

scorches my skin as he inhales deeply, over and over, his

arms hover awkwardly in the air, fingers spread like starfish. I have no idea what to do with my hands. Pat his

simple fact.

up to the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can’t suppress a shiver. His grip tightens even

I get out, my voice higher than normal. "But if you keep squeezing me like

waist loosens slightly. The hand at the back of my head becomes less demanding, more

feel like granite beneath my palms, but even as

"Are you okay?"

a sound deep in his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.

Oh.

don’t match his actions as

"What isn’t—ah!"

gives way without resistance. Yeah, Caine let me go.

there goes Lyre’s band

brushes against my skin, leaving goosebumps. Three clean slices run from my collar all the way down to the hem. Not torn by hands,

Claws.

from my shoulders, revealing a plain beige bra and my bare stomach. "What are