Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 97: Grace: One Tiny Fist

My back aches against the cave wall, but I don’t dare move. Bun’s warm weight anchors me where I am, her slight body rising and falling with each breath, rabbit ears occasionally twitching against my stomach. I’m not even sure when they appeared. When Caine was done explaining how chess was something his father taught him as a child—in an effort to teach strategic thinking for battle, which made his confession seem a little less lighthearted than it was—I’d looked down, and there they were. Little white rabbit ears.

And a tiny puff coming out of her diaper. I can’t smell anything, so I’m about seventy-five percent certain it’s a little puffy rabbit tail and not... something else.

She’s completely conked out, one tiny fist clutching my shirt like I might disappear if she lets go.

An inch away—literally just one inch—Caine sits with his back against the same wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. He’s not sleeping. I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. Too measured. Too controlled. The space between us pulses with unspoken tension, an invisible boundary neither of us wants to breach.

Or, more accurately... one we want to breach, yet can’t.

I shift slightly, and my shoulder nearly grazes his. My entire body goes rigid, muscles locking up as if he’s poison. Or a live, sparking power line.

This is ridiculous. We’ve had sex (well... partly), but now I’m terrified of our shoulders bumping? And our conversation’s come to a complete, grinding halt.

Maybe I’ve made everything worse with my boundaries. Maybe I should’ve just let whatever this is between us unfold naturally instead of trying to control it. But every time I think about giving in, there’s something inside me begging to stick to it.

I glance at his profile in the dim light. There’s stubble covering his jaw, darker than this morning. His eyelashes are long and lush, and instead of envy my first thought goes to eventual children and if they’ll have his eyelashes.

Now I get it, what he said about imagining a life together. Kids. The whole shebang and probably the little dog too.

Well—no, nix the dog. No cats, either. Wolf shifters don’t do pets.

Dinner, yes. Pets? Not so much.

And yet, despite me throwing down rules and needs and confusing him with where my heart’s at, he’s still here. Staying. His shoulder next to mine, respecting my space but not continuing distance.

My heart thumps hard.

No psychopathic serial killer would treat a girl like this. Then again, Ted Bundy got married—no. No more negative thoughts.

What happened with Brax and the others wasn’t murder. It was pack justice.

it is only going to

waking and dreaming when shuffling footsteps jerk me back into fully

hand. His dark hair stands up in

he sees us, his

across his face. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing between me, Caine, and the sleeping

Ron looks at her—protective, confused, a little hurt—makes me wonder if I’ve stepped into

whisper. "She just climbed into my lap and fell asleep. I

cautiously, crouching down beside us. "I can take her back to bed," he offers, reaching out his hands. "She

in immediate distress. Her tiny hand tightens in my

cries out, her voice thick with sleep but unmistakably adamant. Her entire body curls tighter against me, rabbit ears flattening

around her, trying to give her a sense of security, soothe her back into sleep. "Shh, it’s okay," I murmur, one hand

some kind of magic trick. The rejection in his eyes hits me harder than I expected. This

"Leave her."

without a hint of aggression but filled with quiet authority. His eyes

but unmistakable—the way his shoulders

backing away a step. "I just

Caine says, his tone

without jostling her is a new skill, one I’m going to have master as soon as humanly possible. My legs prickle with pins and needles after sitting so

small victory,

him. He doesn’t offer to help, doesn’t try to take Bun—he just stands there, a silent presence at my back,

alcove is warmer than the main cave. While the makeshift beds are all just piles of blankets, Sara and Jer are sleeping so deeply,

bed, trying to disentangle her fingers from my shirt. She

smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I’m not going

can’t explain—a fierce protectiveness I’ve never felt before. I tuck the blanket around her tiny form, marveling at how

dreams," I murmur, leaning down to press a light kiss to her

finally release my shirt, but immediately latch onto my pinky finger instead. I wait, watching as her breathing evens out again, her

extract my finger and rise to leave—only to freeze at the sound of