Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 91: Grace: Conflict Resolution

"Good night, Bun," I whisper, tucking the blanket around the toddler’s tiny shoulders. Her eyelids droop, but she still fights sleep like it’s her mortal enemy.

"Quack," she mumbles, her duck bill morphing back to human lips mid-yawn.

Sara rolls her eyes from her nest of blankets. "Just ignore her. She’ll be asleep in thirty seconds."

The feral baby protests with a grumpy babble, but it’s soft.

I smooth down a wayward curl on her forehead. "Sleep tight, baby."

True to Sara’s prediction, soft snores rise from her little bed of blankets before I’ve even made it five steps away. The rest of the makeshift bedroom settles into comfortable silence—Ron’s already asleep, Jer’s fighting it, and Sara’s watching me leave.

I linger in the main room, fluffing a pillow that doesn’t need fluffing, zipping and unzipping my hoodie. It’s strange how quickly these kids have wound themselves around my heart. It’s only been a few hours, but my heart’s all-in on their orphaned life.

When I finally glance up, I spot Caine sitting alone, one arm resting on his bent knee, his gaze fixed on nothing. The harsh angles of his face are shadowed in the dim light of the cave.

I ease down to the floor across from him. Not close enough to touch, but not so far that I have to raise my voice. My knee is only inches from his.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, but the slight tick in his jaw gives him away. He knows I’m here.

I watch him for a moment, gathering courage. "Earlier... Lyre said something about you tearing this city apart. What does that mean?"

His jaw ticks again. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the soft breathing of semi-sleeping children.

"Don’t—" I pause, searching for the right word, "—sugarcoat it for me."

His eyes flick toward me, then away.

"I don’t need the noble version. I’d like the real one." I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them close. "Lyre explained things to me. I already know you’re not some psychopathic serial killer or whatever."

through his stony expression. "You thought I

No. Of course not." Yes, yes, I did. "Maybe

of his mouth. Not

face. The gesture is so unexpectedly vulnerable,

without cause," he says finally. "Blue Mountain gave me

bothering to

urge to look away from his storm-gray eyes. They’re too intense.

Too... pretty.

problem for years. Always smiling, always compliant. But he was never truly loyal. I had my eye on him for

past, still struggling to reconcile the man I once saw as a father figure and the one who abandoned me without a second

he glances away.

my jaw with a laugh. "Well, you didn’t kill

did, but after Lyre smacked me with a bit

has

and slightly nervous.

"What?"

of,

air between us shifts from cautious to charged, the

to exhale slowly instead of sucking it all down like a woman drowning

mean by that?" he asks, his

him for a second too long, my brain switching from I like how he smells to

the gut: Lyre wasn’t exaggerating when she said Caine has all the emotional intelligence of a rock. He’s actually, sincerely mystified about what I’m trying

to be teasing me, right? He

mean..." I blink a few times. "It’s a little scary to watch someone order the deaths of a

me. He’s looking over my shoulder with a

of vibrating through