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.

locked," he whines, dancing from foot to

I say, digging in my pocket for the key Lyre gave me. "I’ve got

the key, watching him slide

The

as she grabs the handle and

the wrong key?" Ron suggests,

this is

Ron steps forward, adjusting Bun on

the handle, yanking with more strength than either of the younger kids could

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

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

Keep

glance around. No one’s outside,

Not right.

get out of my way," 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

suddenly self-conscious with everyone watching. I grip the key tight, my knuckles turning white. Another deep breath, and I slide

No resistance. The handle gives under my palm, and the door swings open with a soft

I say, trying to sound casual while my heartbeat hammers in

greeting me—cozy bohemian fabrics, the faint smell of incense, colorful glass bottles catching the afternoon light. But the air’s too still and empty, like it’s

been,

feelings are all overly dramatized because

I’ve become paranoid.

the bathroom first," I say, turning

isn’t following me in. He stands frozen at the

"I can’t," he says.

camper. There are actually two of

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