Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia
Chapter 89
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!"
hand against her chest. Not that I hurt her—I’d never—but the surprise of it
creatures soil themselves and beg for mercy. His eyes flash dangerously, muscles tensing as he prepares to
plenty of time to lose patience with this particular brand of alpha
him—a casual gesture, like brushing away a particularly annoying insect—and the air responds instantly, condensing into a wave that slams into Caine’s chest
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 blend
lurking near the entrance, makes a strangled sound. Poor thing. Probably contemplating which exit strategy won’t
I’m joking?" I ask, looking between Grace and Caine. "That I’m
hangs in
"Well—she
one of them
Lycan King, "—is overwhelming. One touch, even a small one, and he’ll pull
eyes widen. She looks down at her hand like
wasn’t intending to...
thought. You don’t think, you just act, and suddenly you’re back in
the floor, bristling with barely contained rage. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, tattoos rippling
I shouldn’t tear your head off," he
you can’t, and B: I’m trying to keep your mate
from somewhere behind me, sounding far too amused for someone
my hands together, loud enough to startle everyone. The brief nudge of arcana to amplify the sound might have helped. "Charming as this display of dominance is—truly, it’s riveting—there
to say something predictably threatening, when movement catches my peripheral
feral toddler comes tearing around the corner, her face smeared with what appears to be
sprints with her arms outstretched, looking equal
here!" she hisses,
the unstoppable momentum
gymnasts would admire and lets out a bellow loud enough
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