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

sure there’s

to

do. I really do. Because his jaw is doing that tense thing again, and his shoulders have gone rigid, and somehow I’ve managed to offend the most dangerous predator I’ve ever met by not letting

the hospital," I say quickly. "The energy thing, remember? Lyre said

me off,

I’ve done something wrong, which makes something inside my chest 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

Grace." His voice isn’t really softer, but some of the

toward the alcove. At least the kids seem to have fallen 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

desperate to change the subject before this gets any more awkward. "You were explaining... about

shoulders rolling as if shaking off the moment. "Not much to explain. They

might have been extreme. Now he’s back

my lips together. Maybe it’s better to

* * *

exactly uncomfortable. The distant sound of Bun’s soft breathing from the alcove and Ron’s occasional sleep-mumbling fills

profile sharp against the dim light—all defined jaw

making this worse by staying

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

of a terrifying Lycan King having

the rule like a good girl—but I’ve closed the gap. Our arms are just inches apart now. Close enough that I can feel the heat

move away. I

Fiddleback Pack

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

"Strange how?"

stretches for so long I think maybe he didn’t hear me, but then his hands clench. It’s a subtle movement, but I feel attuned to every last twitch of his muscles, every soft exhale

contact didn’t seem like a big

reality is much

underestimated how much I want to be with the man. Want to press myself against him. Want to

me keeps

No.

of a yank, hauling me around like a ragdoll, demanding I submit to this strange connection between us. It’s hazed my brain so it’s hard to think of

it’s more

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