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.

his knees, but the other two are flat on the

happening. I’ve already seen it

I feel... nothing. No pressure, no compulsion to kneel, no difficulty breathing. No hint of Caine’s dominance touches me. Or

to Lyre, who makes a shooing gesture

Caine says,

She holds a palm up, mouthing "stay right here" before backing down the camper steps. She does it with such ease, like she has eyes in the back of her

hear what’s happening outside, but the wind brings her voice right to

you want to check on

if it is Rafe, where

it. I peek around the doorway again, only to verify Lyre is talking to Caine—whose eyes meet mine almost

aside without ceremony, storming forward. His weight on the stairs sways the RV.

door slams shut behind him; he

my side. First Fenris, now Lyre,

have darkened to storm clouds, and his

him radiates

me, and I flinch

word’s more of a squeak anything else,

as I retreat, hands behind me feeling for obstacles. The small space of the camper suddenly feels like a trap. My lower

Nowhere to run.

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 he buries his face into the crook of my

as he inhales deeply, over and over, his chest expanding against mine with each desperate

air, fingers spread like starfish. I have no idea what to do

simple fact. The Lycan King

spot behind my ear, and I can’t suppress a shiver. His grip tightens even further, crushing me against the hard

than normal. "But if you keep squeezing

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

like granite beneath my palms,

"Are you okay?"

Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. His lips brush against my pulse point

Oh.

match his

"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.

there goes

leaving goosebumps. Three clean slices

Claws.

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