Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 126: Grace: Waking to Chaos (I)

Sharp, digital beeps wake me out of what feels like a molasses-like sea of sleep.

My eyes are too heavy to pry open, but I manage anyway.

I’m not in the camper.

Panic is immediate, freezing every muscle. It was already hard to move, and now it’s impossible.

Two feet, clad in black flip-flops and wearing an anklet with a bell, chiming sweetly with every step, pace toward me. They’re men’s feet, making the anklet seem so much more out of place. It’s on a delicate golden chain, and I wonder how it doesn’t snap every time he walks.

"Oh, dear. You aren’t supposed to be here."

His voice slides over me, soft like silk and dripping with the sweetness of honey, but with the faint, smokey sound of a man trying to seduce you in the dark.

I’m already on guard.

The casual amusement in his tone wraps around me with unsettling familiarity, as if we’re old friends reuniting after a brief separation. Far too intimate.

I try to sit up, pushing against whatever invisible force pins me down. My muscles strain against nothing and everything at once. The effort makes my vision swim, black spots dancing.

And then the world... glitches.

expanse of stars, then to absolutely nothing at all—vanishing and reforming with each desperate blink. My stomach

seasick, and

I try to focus on his face and not his feet floating

Big mistake.

then subtly wrong the next. His eyes cycle through impossible colors—violet blending into gold, then abyssal black, then something which isn’t a color at all, but more of an

constantly. Beautiful, but the kind where my brain hurts just trying to perceive

leaves tracers in

and his lips hover dangerously near mine—not quite

"Chaos really likes you..."

chest, a spark of heat spreading outward in a sudden rush. And inside the heat, something else responds—not me, but something within

wrench backward, away from his almost-touch, my spine arching with sudden strength I didn’t know I had. The movement feels instinctual, primal—and strangely, it doesn’t come from me alone. I’m

Caine.

the connection, fierce and primal and alive in a way I’ve never

delight as he watches me.

The amusement on his ever-changing face is the only constant, though it also flickers and changes with his rise and lowering of his cheekbones and the

Steady. Like I’m commenting on the weather instead of having an impossible conversation in an impossible place. My voice doesn’t match

steadiness rattles me more than panic

and clean, filling my lungs and easing

a hand dismissively. "No, but there’s a wolf who’s claimed you, no?" His features ripple again, settling momentarily into a beautiful, golden-haired face before shifting away. He sports a giant, bushy beard now, and heavy

in his voice sends heat rushing to my

suddenly changes, pressure building around us. Separate from the weight holding down my body, it feels like it’s holding onto this space. He