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.

is on his knees, but

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

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

a shooing gesture behind her back. I guess

Caine says, sounding

stern line. 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

strain to hear what’s happening outside, but

Don’t you want to

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

to verify Lyre is

weight on the stairs sways the RV. When he ducks through the doorway to come inside, my

door slams shut behind him; he

I’m alone with him. So much for being on my side. First Fenris,

overwhelming, 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

toward me, and I flinch

anything else, but he

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

Nowhere to run.

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

as he inhales deeply, over and over,

idea what to do with my hands. Pat

I’m reminded of a simple fact. The Lycan

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

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 my head becomes less demanding, more cradling. His breathing, which had been ragged and harsh,

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

"Are you okay?"

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

Oh.

his actions as he takes a step back, letting

"What isn’t—ah!"

half scream, half gasp—as the fabric of my shirt gives way without resistance. Yeah, Caine let me

goes Lyre’s

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

Claws.

my shoulders, revealing a plain beige bra and my bare