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.

Caine fit on one hand. One: Murderous instincts. Two: For some reason, he can manifest his wolf outside of his body. Three:

there’s a five

don’t have to

shoulders have gone

the hospital,"

he cuts me

wrong, which makes something inside my chest twist up into a spiral of anxiety. It’s hard to take a lungful of

isn’t really softer, but some of the edge is

watching all this unfold. Sara’s still convinced the Lycan King’s going to eat them all before morning, and his current aura would

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

if shaking off the moment. "Not much to explain. They suffered the proper

ago, he’d admitted his actions might have been extreme. Now he’s back

pinch my lips together. Maybe it’s better to be quiet, before I offend him

* * *

sound of Bun’s soft breathing from the alcove and Ron’s occasional

his profile sharp against the dim light—all defined jaw and

making this worse

sudden clarity. His hand stretched out was an offering, and I scrambled away like he was contagious. Mate bond or not, energy drain or not, I’ve just

terrifying Lycan King having hurt feelings—makes my chest

the same wall. I don’t touch him—obeying 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

move away.

Pack was

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

"Strange how?"

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

seem like a big deal when Lyre

is much

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

me keeps

No.

too gentle. It’s more 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 anything else, until I’m

it’s more

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