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!"
mouth drops open in shock as she cradles her hand against her chest. Not that I hurt her—I’d never—but the surprise
creatures soil themselves and beg for mercy. His eyes flash dangerously, muscles
is plenty of time to lose patience
finger toward 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 and throws him backward into the stone
that would actually hurt him, just enough force to rattle his oversized ego. The cushions scatter around him as he slides down
the entrance, makes a strangled sound. Poor thing. Probably contemplating which exit strategy
I ask, looking between Grace and Caine.
hangs in the
throat. "Well—she did say no
of them is
toward the now-seething Lycan King, "—is overwhelming. One touch, even a small one, and he’ll pull from you again. He can’t help
her
intending
thought. You don’t think, you just act, and suddenly you’re back in a hospital bed with
off the floor, bristling with barely contained rage. His hands clench and unclench at his sides,
seconds to explain why I shouldn’t tear your head off,"
you can’t, and B: I’m trying to keep your mate alive, you absolute
amused for someone
have helped. "Charming as this display of
mouth, no doubt to say something predictably threatening, when
face smeared with what appears to be pizza sauce
a girl with braided hair sprints with her arms
here!" she hisses, reaching for the
unstoppable momentum of a tiny, sauce-covered missile. Her destination is clear, and nothing—nothing—will deter
a flying leap Olympic gymnasts would admire and lets
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