Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 93

Chapter 92: Grace: Awkward Space

My body reacts before my brain even notices. I scramble backward like an awkward human crab, making it a foot away before my right wrist buckles out of nowhere.

My elbow crashes into the ground.

I adjust my position, trying to make my panicked retreat look casual.

I fail.

Spectacularly.

At least if I’m judging by the look on his face.

My cheeks are hot enough to light a fire.

Caine’s hand hangs suspended between us, frozen in mid-air. His face has transformed from brow-creased concern to wide-eyed bewilderment, like I just sprouted a second head.

He’s back to concern, but now it’s the kind of concern you give a kid after they faceplant a sidewalk.

"No touching, remember?" I manage, my voice hitting soprano when it’s usually a comfortable alto.

For a long moment, he stares at his outstretched hand like it’s not even his. Then he slowly brings it back to his side.

Tension thickens between us.

"Right," he mutters. "No touching."

I pull my knees tighter to my chest, wishing I could disappear into the stone floor.

"It’s not that I don’t—" I stop, feeling my face grow even hotter. How does one say yes, I’d like you to touch me without it sounding like a perverted invitation?

So I keep my mouth shut instead of finishing my sentence.

Fated connection or not, I still feel embarrassment. And awkwardness. And like we’re a little too close to feel like strangers now—especially since his hands have literally been in my pants, which is way out of stranger territory—but still feeling as if I don’t know the man at all.

We’ve fast-forwarded through the most basic part of a relationship: getting to know each other. Like, at all.

I know about Caine fit on one hand. One: Murderous instincts. Two: For some reason, he can manifest his wolf outside of his body. Three: His touches feel really

there’s

to explain," he

is doing that tense thing again, and his shoulders have gone

just don’t want to end up back in the hospital," I say quickly. "The energy thing, remember? Lyre

remember," he cuts me off, his voice

twist up into a spiral of anxiety. It’s hard to take a lungful of breath, and heat flushes through my scalp, making my hair

voice isn’t really softer, but some of the edge is gone. Closer to

asleep. It would be mortifying if they were watching all this unfold. Sara’s still convinced the Lycan King’s going to eat them all before morning, and his current aura would not help

to change the subject before this gets

off the moment. "Not much to explain. They suffered the

might

it’s better to be quiet, before I offend

* * *

between us, charged but not exactly uncomfortable. The distant sound of Bun’s soft

remains statue-still, his profile sharp against the

making this worse

clarity. His hand stretched out was an offering, and I scrambled away like he was contagious. Mate

it—this idea of a terrifying Lycan King having

sitting right beside him, our backs against the same wall. I don’t touch him—obeying the rule like a good girl—but

away. I don’t

Pack was

it. I turn my head toward him, suddenly alert. This is it—he’s finally answering my

"Strange how?"

think maybe he didn’t hear me, but then his hands clench. It’s a subtle movement, but I feel attuned to every

like a big deal when Lyre

reality is

be with the man. Want to press myself against him. Want to feel his hands on my

me

No.

a yank, hauling me around like a ragdoll, demanding I submit to this strange connection between us. It’s hazed my

it’s more

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