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.

on his knees, but the other two are flat on the ground. If anyone’s having

happening. I’ve already seen

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

who makes a shooing gesture behind her back. I guess my

says, sounding strange.

stern line. She holds a palm up, mouthing "stay right here" before backing down the camper

strain to hear what’s happening outside, but the wind

is inside. Don’t you want to

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

doorway again, only to verify Lyre is talking to

ceremony, storming forward. His weight on the stairs sways the RV.

him; he didn’t do it. Lyre,

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

presence has always been overwhelming, but now he looks positively feral. Veins stand out against his neck. His eyes have darkened to storm clouds,

him radiates barely

and I

of a squeak anything else, but

me feeling for obstacles. The small

Nowhere to run.

breath from my lungs. One arm bands around my waist like steel while the other hand cradles the

over and over, his

fingers spread like starfish. I have no idea what to do with my hands. Pat his

I’m reminded of a simple

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

out, my voice higher than normal. "But if you keep squeezing me like this, I won’t be for

the crushing pressure of his embrace. The arm around my waist loosens slightly. The hand at the back of my head becomes less demanding, more cradling. His breathing, which had been

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

"Are you okay?"

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

Oh.

isn’t enough," he adds, but his words don’t match his actions as he

"What isn’t—ah!"

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

there goes Lyre’s

shock, my mind struggling to process what just happened. Air brushes against my skin, leaving goosebumps. Three clean slices run from

Claws.

limply from my shoulders, revealing a plain beige bra and my bare stomach.