Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 89: Grace: Mama?!

Bun burrows deeper into my lap, trembling against my chest. The cave has gone deadly silent except for her sniffles.

"I can explain," Owen says again, taking another careful step back when Caine’s eyes lock onto him like heat-seeking missiles.

My heart pounds, trapped somewhere between panic and a bizarre protective instinct for the toddler currently using me as a human tissue. I’ve known this child for less than a handful of hours, but the bone-crushing tension radiating from Caine makes me want to shield her with my body.

"She’s not—we’re not—" My voice is thin. "This isn’t what it looks like."

The words are lame, but it isn’t as if I was expecting to defend myself against a toddler calling me her mother.

Caine’s jaw twitches. The tattoos on his skin seem to pulse darker, shadows writhing beneath his flesh. I can practically hear the calculations happening behind his stormy eyes—dates, timelines, possibilities...

Not that there’s much to calculate.

No. Wait. Is he really wondering if Bun could be Rafe’s...? No.

Owen clears his throat. "Bun has no parents. None of the children do." His voice remains steady despite the death stare Caine is drilling into him. "They’re all soulspliced aberrants I rescued from various facilities. Bun is the youngest."

It’s the most words I’ve ever heard him put together at once.

"Soulspliced?" I echo, glancing down at the little head tucked under my chin.

"Their souls are..." He moves his hands awkwardly. "Mixed with more than one source. Aberrants."

Bun raises her tear-stained face to look up at me. Her features shift slightly—bunny ears pop out of her head, and whiskers sprout her cheeks again. Then they’re gone.

it if I hadn’t seen it multiple times

this time, pressing her face back against my

darkens further, if that’s even possible. His hands curl

us all. "Grace, you have to acknowledge

That I’m her

he’s continuing, "She’ll keep repeating herself if you don’t. It’s right

down at the knee pressed against my side.

moans from behind

little more pathetic and less...

"We know it hurts, Bun. Grace, you have to kiss it. Bun, you want Grace

toddler brightens. "Mm! Mama. Hee. Mama." She kicks her leg out, proving

situation. Her cat-slit eyes are dancing from person to person, her lips twitching every time she looks

translates as I kiss

she isn’t

Lyre, crossing his arms. "Why would he call her mama? We just met

Oh.

Ohh.

immediate and palpable, like someone just lifted an entire truck off his chest. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, and the murderous gleam in his eyes dims to merely threatening. He

Smiles.

he says, still

still with an absurd tilt of his lips as

go from motherhood to not-motherhood in the span of three seconds, I also feel relieved. And no one’s getting murdered over a misunderstanding, so even better. But as I look down at Bun’s tearful face, at the smudge of red

Ridiculous.