Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 113: Grace: Daddy Material

The display for Lyre’s solar power says 1,384W in, 98% battery, and then a number to actually make my stomach flip:

Estimated Runtime: 3h 12m.

Three hours? That’s it?

I glance at the humming AC vents, the dehumidifier pulling swamp air from every corner, and the fridge. We’re pulling too much. Even with solar pouring in, it’s not enough.

How is that possible with 98%?

My fingers hover over the thermostat. I can’t shut everything off, but maybe I can cut the second AC. That’s one less thing bleeding our battery dry.

But first I have to figure out how.

"What’s wrong?" Caine’s voice comes from directly behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body without him actually touching me.

I step quickly to the side, putting six more inches between us. "I have no idea what any of this means." I gesture at the panel. "How much power do we have? How long before we’re out? I don’t know anything about solar."

All I know is it’s expensive, which makes me wonder even more about how Lyre gets by.

He leans in to examine the display, his dark brows furrowed. The muscles in his arm tense as he braces himself against the wall, making sure not to brush against me. We’ve become experts at this careful dance of almost-contact.

know jack-shit about solar," he admits, straightening. "But I’ve worked with generators before. Does she

I don’t know. "I’ve never seen

"I’ll check

toward the door, navigating around Jer’s dinosaur rampage—literally, he’s bouncing between the kitchenette and living room, going on about lasers

and reaches

the swinging pendant light. She squeals in protest as I set her down on the bench seat,

to crawl under the

exhaustion washing over me. Lyre had texted, telling me to take the bedroom, since we’ll need the extra sleeping

in Lyre’s queen bed; Ron and Jer on the daybed I’d used, though it’ll be a tight squeeze; Caine on the couch. In practice, I’m not sure

swings open, and Caine pops his head in. "Found it

My stomach drops. "Fuel?"

much propane we have, so we’re going to need to get some gas.

flicker of panic ignites in my chest. We need the AC running. Bun’s too small to handle this kind of heat—but even without her, all

before, but now it’s my biggest concern, outside from

and probably more food." I mentally catalog

blinds to survey our surroundings. I join him, staying far enough away that our shoulders don’t touch, but I sneakily breathe deep

they smell like him thing I’ve heard about. I would wear his shirts every

wide dirt clearing nestled in shallow hills. No trees for shade, just scrubby plants and packed earth. The fifth-wheel sits in a slightly lower area where recent rain has created muddy tire ruts and small puddles. A