Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 110

Chapter 109: Grace: At the Campground

"This is it," I say, pointing through the windshield as we pull into the campsite. Lyre’s fifth-wheel camper sits right where we left it, nestled against the backdrop of beautiful woods.

When we pulled in the first time, it looked beautiful and free.

Today, it looks... ominous.

Perspective is everything, I guess.

"Is something wrong?" Caine asks, his voice rumbling through the truck. The kids are all quiet, even Bun. They understand danger in ways no child should.

I shake my head, but the skin at the nape of my neck prickles. "It looks fine."

But it doesn’t feel fine.

The camper sits undisturbed. No broken windows. No kicked-in door. Not a single sign of intrusion. And yet... something heavy hangs in the air. A pressure against my chest. A whisper just beyond hearing. My fingers twist into the fabric of my jeans.

"Let’s get the kids inside," Caine says, steel-eyed as he scans the tree line. He’s felt it too. Or he’s just naturally suspicious.

"Finally!" Jer mumbles, unbuckling himself from the middle seat and following me out the door. "I have to pee so bad my eyeballs are floating."

Okay, maybe they aren’t as freaked out as I thought they were.

"Gross," Sara mutters as she slides out of the back. Her red eyes dart toward the camper with undisguised relief; she’s definitely more tense than the younger boy.

Ron, of course, is as teenage-stoic as ever as he grabs Bun and hops down.

"Careful, guys. Stay close."

"We know," Sara and Jer chorus. They’re already beelining for the camper door.

Jer reaches it first, yanking the handle.

Nothing happens.

whines, dancing from foot

digging in my pocket for the

him slide it into the lock

click. No give. The door remains

grabs the handle and rattles it with surprising force for a

the wrong key?" Ron suggests, shifting Bun to

this is definitely

Ron steps forward, adjusting

more strength than either of the younger kids could muster. Nothing.

her chubby hands toward the door. Before I can stop her, she starts banging her tiny

that’s not going to—" I start, but the look on her face stops me. It’s cute, with her giant eyes narrowed in

mind. Keep banging.

an uneasy feeling slithers up my spine, and I glance around.

Not right.

who all back up on command. Bun scowls at the door over

The prickling sensation isn’t unpleasant—it’s almost grounding compared to the creeping unease

grip the key tight, my knuckles turning white. Another deep breath, and I slide it into

turns smoothly. No resistance. The handle gives under my palm, and the door swings open

I say, trying to sound casual while

me—cozy bohemian fabrics, the faint smell of incense, colorful glass bottles

only been, like, two

are all overly dramatized because of the

I’ve become paranoid.

the bathroom first," I say, turning

frozen

"I can’t," he says.

camper. There are actually two of them, but I figure Lyre

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