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.

beta is on his knees, but

only takes a second to recognize what’s happening. I’ve already seen it once

No pressure, no compulsion to kneel, no difficulty breathing. No hint of

makes a shooing gesture behind

Caine says,

up, mouthing "stay right here" before backing down the camper steps. She does it with such ease, like she

hear what’s happening outside, but

inside. Don’t you want to

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

again, only to verify Lyre is

ceremony, storming forward. His weight on the stairs sways the RV. When he ducks through the doorway to come inside, my mouth

behind him; he

on my side. First Fenris, now

but now he looks positively feral. Veins stand out against his neck. His eyes have darkened to storm clouds, and his jaw clenches so hard

inch of him radiates barely contained

toward me, and I flinch

more of a squeak anything else, but he

long strides as I retreat, hands behind me feeling for obstacles. The small space of the camper suddenly feels like a trap. My lower back hits something solid—the entertainment

Nowhere to run.

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

and over, his chest expanding against mine

have no idea what to do with my hands. Pat his

again, I’m reminded of a simple fact. The Lycan King

his nose traces a line up to the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can’t suppress a shiver. His grip tightens even further, crushing

out, my voice higher than normal. "But

happens then. The rigid tension in his body relaxes. Not completely, but enough to ease the crushing pressure of his embrace. The arm around my waist loosens slightly. The hand at the back of

let my hands settle on his shoulders. His muscles feel like granite beneath my palms, but even as I touch

"Are you okay?"

his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. His lips

Oh.

but his words don’t match his actions

"What isn’t—ah!"

my throat—a half scream, half gasp—as the fabric of my shirt gives way without resistance. Yeah, Caine let me go. But then he’d

goes Lyre’s band

in shock, my mind struggling to process what just happened. Air 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.

my shoulders, revealing a plain beige bra