Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 60: Caine: Fiddleback

CAINE

"Put Grace down," Lyre says.

"No."

No, Fenris echoes.

My arms tighten around my limp mate, clutching her to my chest. I refuse to let her go. My lips press against her temple, feeling how cool her skin is. Her breathing’s shallow. Her pulse is weak.

The thought of letting her go—even for a moment—stabs through me like silver.

"Put. Her. Down," Lyre orders, as if commanding the Lycan King is something she can do on a whim. "Your emotions are all over her right now. She doesn’t need your panic seeping into what little energy she has left."

"No."

Lyre’s slitted eyes narrow further. "Do you want to kill her?"

Of course not. She’s the other half of my soul. The fated connection I’d denied is burning bright in my chest, rattled by the thought of losing her.

Losing a mate is hard, but the thought of losing Grace is... impossible. Dying would be preferable.

Lyre sighs and stomps out of the room, shaking the camper with each step. A short while later, she’s back, with a soft white t-shirt. "Here. You can put this on her."

Grace’s torn shirt is still on the floor, and shame washes through me at the evidence of my lack of control. Everything that happened between us had been perfect, transcendent—until it wasn’t.

Pathetic fool. I should have held back. It was obvious a human couldn’t handle what we have between us.

She can handle it, Fenris insists. Something is wrong. It isn’t our bond. The Goddess would not allow it.

With the greatest reluctance, I lower Grace back onto the bed. Lyre doesn’t waste time, pushing in beside me to slip the shirt over Grace’s head. She’s like a ragdoll, without even a hint of resistance.

Even the scent of blueberries is faint, hard to pinpoint in the mix of other smells.

My hands hover uselessly above Grace’s still form. "I need to

smacking my hands away. "You have something else to do. Go put your clothes

woman, but Grace holds her in

thought of Grace’s beautiful, grass-green eyes staring at me with accusation makes my stomach quiver. It

off the floor, pulling it on. The fabric feels restrictive,

losing Grace. My body feels different. Lighter. As if

Fenris’s presence feels...

not even glancing my way. "But there’s something more important you need to deal with right

more important than her." The words tear from my throat

with her uncanny eyes. Then she

drops to a

are you

beta’s dealing with them

Ah.

periphery of my awareness. A pack. Territory holders. A presence I would have noticed immediately, if

through clenched

"The ambulance will be here soon, so take care of them before they scare

of her cheek, the scatter of faint freckles across her nose, the slow rise and fall of

be right back," I

Lyre sighs. "Just go."

steps, his broad back a barrier between what’s mine and a semicircle of wolves—eight of them, various ranks within their pack,

isn’t here, but the one might be

Jack-Eye says, relief evident in his voice. "The Fiddleback Pack was concerned about

should want to tear through these lesser wolves for daring to interrupt when my mate lies

remains by Grace, silent in

I can still access my anger—it’s there, simmering beneath my skin—but it

face with

sidestepping him to face these interlopers directly. My shoulders square, stance

dominance rolling through the air, their faces grow pale. Jack-Eye’s presence should have been enough, but not all wolves

alpha?" My

exchanging glances. This pack was clearly unprepared for a direct confrontation with the Lycan King. Their discomfort saturates the air, the forced bravado of those who’ve stumbled into something far