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.

from cool marble to an infinite expanse of stars, then to absolutely nothing at all—vanishing and reforming with

and reality’s

beside me, and I try to focus on his face and not his feet

Big mistake.

Too symmetrical one moment, then subtly wrong the next. His eyes cycle through impossible colors—violet blending

blink, his hair growing and shortening and changing texture constantly. Beautiful, but the kind where my brain hurts just trying to perceive it. An optical illusion,

know." He tilts his head, and the movement leaves tracers in my vision. "The Order is watching

leans closer, his breath cool against my face. Long fingers tilt my chin up, and his lips hover dangerously near mine—not quite touching,

"Chaos really likes you..."

inside the heat, something else responds—not me, but something within me. It snarls,

almost-touch, my spine arching with sudden strength I didn’t know I had. The movement feels

Caine.

my veins like liquid fire. Raw power surges through the connection, fierce and primal and alive in a way I’ve never felt

he watches me. "Fated wolves are always

a single dimension. 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

having an impossible conversation in an impossible place. My voice doesn’t match my racing heart or the

rattles me more than panic would

air feels wonderful—cool and clean, filling my lungs and easing the weight

settling momentarily into a beautiful, golden-haired face before shifting away. He sports a giant, bushy beard

disappointment in his voice sends heat

my body, it feels like it’s holding onto this