Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 88: Lyre: Let’s All Calm Down

LYRE

Jack-Eye steps forward, hands raised. "Let’s all calm down."

I ignore him. "Do you want to send her back to intensive care? Because that’s what will happen if you drain her again. Energy transference isn’t a joke."

Caine’s jaw works as he processes this, his desire to touch Grace warring with his need to keep her safe. It’s almost endearing how much his instincts conflict with each other.

Finally, he moves to a cushion near Grace—close, but not touching—and sits with the stiff posture of someone expecting an attack at any moment.

"Where is Fenris?" Grace asks, leaning forward but keeping her hands to herself.

"Recuperating," Caine answers shortly. His gaze never leaves her face, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. "He used a lot of energy."

The way his voice darkens tells me there’s more to the story, but now isn’t the time to pry. His brain’s somewhere else, I’m sure, the kind of place it shouldn’t be with children under the same roof. Thankfully, they’re in the other room.

Then his attention shifts to me and Owen.

Huh.

Maybe I’m wrong. The man’s upper brain is still working.

"What is this place?" the overbearing brute demands. "Why is Grace here?"

Grace moves so suddenly I almost don’t catch her in time. One moment she’s sitting there all wide-eyed innocence, the next her hand is reaching toward Caine’s arm with an instinctive need to comfort.

I lunge forward, smacking her hand away before contact.

"No touching!"

against her chest. Not that I hurt her—I’d never—but the surprise of it stings worse

tide, snarls at me. A rumbling, guttural sound that would make most creatures soil themselves and beg for mercy. His eyes flash dangerously,

plenty of time to lose patience with this particular brand

like brushing away a particularly annoying insect—and the air responds instantly, condensing into a wave

impact makes a satisfying thud. Nothing that would actually hurt him, just enough force to rattle his oversized ego. The cushions scatter around him as he slides down to the floor, his expression a spectacular

a strangled sound. Poor thing. Probably contemplating which exit

looking between Grace and Caine. "That I’m

in

clears his throat. "Well—she did say no

one of

I continue, focusing on Grace. "And his—" I jab a finger toward the now-seething Lycan King, "—is overwhelming. One touch, even a small one, and

down at her hand

wasn’t intending to...

mate bonds." I sigh heavily. "They override rational thought. You don’t think, you just act, and suddenly

clench and unclench at his sides, tattoos rippling across his skin like

I shouldn’t tear your head off," he

roll my eyes. "Because A: you can’t, and B: I’m trying

too amused

of arcana to amplify the sound might have helped. "Charming as this display of dominance is—truly, it’s riveting—there are way more important questions to ask right now, don’t you

doubt to say something predictably

smeared with what appears to be pizza sauce and possibly chocolate. I hope it’s

hair sprints with her arms

back here!" she hisses, reaching for

She careens across the floor with the unstoppable momentum of a tiny, sauce-covered missile. Her destination is clear,

Grace’s lap with a flying leap Olympic gymnasts would admire and