Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 125: Caine: In the Rain

CAINE

The lights flicker for the third time in as many minutes, casting strange shadows across Bun’s tear-streaked face.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I bounce her on my hip. The toddler’s settled into a persistent whimper rather than full-blown screams, which is an improvement, but the damn RV is a new concern.

"Fah," Bun whispers between big sniffs.

I pace to the front of the camper, where the control panel sits mocking me with its incomprehensible display. Numbers and letters with no comprehensible logic. Grace was the one who set everything up—all I did was drive the damn thing to this godforsaken spot.

The screen flickers, then goes completely dark before lighting up again. A warning icon blinks in the corner.

Maybe it’s failing, Fenris observes helpfully.

"No shit." I shift Bun to my other hip, her small hands fisting in my shirt.

"Nuh shuh."

I dig my phone out of my pocket and dial Lyre, cursing the woman for owning this rolling death trap. The line doesn’t even ring before an automated voice cuts in: "Please try again later."

I try Jack-Eye and get the same result.

"Something’s not right about this storm," I mutter, staring at the blank phone screen.

There’s magic to it, Fenris agrees.

We’ve said the same thing at least ten times already.

My eyes drift toward the back room where Grace lies unconscious. I want nothing more than to curl around her, to guard her while she’s vulnerable. To feel her heartbeat against mine and know she’s safe. To suck in every last bit of her blueberry muffin scent, which is probably the only thing keeping me from rampaging in this tiny space.

But I can’t. Not with Bun still radiating unstable energy. Not with three other potentially volatile shifter children who could lose control at any moment. Besides, I’d just make it all worse.

This inability to touch the woman is driving me mad.

She’s breathing better, Fenris reports from where he stands guard in the bedroom doorway. Steadier.

"Good."

I turn to survey the rest of the cramped living space. The kids have fallen into an uneasy quiet, and it’s more concerning than their earlier panic. Sara sits pressed against the window, her small fingers splayed on the glass as if reaching for the storm itself. Her eyes track the lightning with unnerving focus.

Jer can’t seem to stay still. He bounces from one cushion to another, his small body vibrating with excess energy even as he mutters, "Everything feels weird. Everything feels weird," under his breath like a mantra.

The oldest does a better job of appearing calm. But I don’t miss how his head tilts up seconds before each thunderclap rings out, his body tensing in anticipation. He feels it coming.

They’re twitchier than a room full of hair-trigger pups during a blood moon.

about this storm is

I direct the question at Sara, who tears her gaze from the window

like... my skin doesn’t fit

at his neck. "It itches," he whines, leaving red marks

look to Ron, raising

gruffly, then frowns. "No, not hurt.

can smell it. Stress in shifting adolescents often ends up with a wild shift, though it’s never at the level of whatever happened to

take them outside, Fenris

course he knows already. We all do. Kind of hard to miss when

them shifts violently in here, someone could get hurt.

have them where we

Even if it’s wet.

at least it’s easier to clean

I announce, shifting Bun to my other hip. "We’re

it’s raining," Jer protests, even as his

"Now."

first, followed by a

I tell him,

"Okay."

finally moves

protest but rush into it instead. All except Bun, who Ron gently takes from my arms to help down the steps. Her small hands reach for the falling water with

a moment to trudge through the mud to the truck, finally killing the engine I’d left running in my rush to check on Grace. For a second, there’s silence but for

back toward

beside me, ears perked, tail wagging against the wet ground. Just... staring up at me with intelligent

right. Dogs never approach wolves, much less

the hell are you doing

tail wags harder. It’s strangely untouched by the

a low growl rumbling from his throat. In one fluid motion, he lunges at the retriever, teeth snapping

before turning tail and bolting for the RV camped in the distance. I narrow my eyes, watching

coming back, Fenris notes. It’s either stupid or

on

from where she’s spinning in

scoffs. "That was mean. He wasn’t doing anything

as she toddles through a puddle, her bare feet splashing with childish

hair plastering to her cheeks as she laughs quietly to herself. Jer has abandoned his complaints to roll in the mud, giggling, though he still flinches at each thunderclap. Ron paces the perimeter like a guard dog,

be a good wolf. Strong pack instinct mixed with his cautious nature will

feels... calmer now. Or maybe it’s just

to Fenris’s dark shape

isn’t coming back anymore. It’s a miracle the truck

can’t see Grace out here, but I know she’s inside, vulnerable

rate

concern. Body temperature is normal. We caught the drain before it went too far. Not