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.

he whines, dancing

pocket for the key Lyre

him the key, watching him slide it into

click. No give. The door remains

swinging as she grabs the handle

wrong key?" Ron suggests, shifting Bun to his

is

me try." Ron steps forward, adjusting Bun

than either of the younger kids could muster. Nothing. The door remains stubbornly shut, like it’s been

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

the look on her face stops me. It’s cute,

mind. Keep banging.

spine, and I glance

Not right.

I order the kids, who all back up on command. Bun

of heat at my back. The prickling sensation isn’t unpleasant—it’s almost grounding compared to the creeping unease trailing me all

suddenly self-conscious with everyone watching. I grip the key tight, my knuckles

resistance. The handle gives under my palm,

say, trying to sound casual while my heartbeat hammers in my throat.

familiar space of Lyre’s camper greeting me—cozy bohemian fabrics, the faint smell of incense, colorful glass

only been,

all overly dramatized because of the

I’ve become paranoid.

can use the bathroom first," I say,

He stands frozen

"I can’t," he says.

do you mean, you can’t? The bathroom’s right there." I point toward the back of the camper. There are actually two of them, but I figure Lyre might

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