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.

beneath me shifts from cool marble to an infinite 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

Big mistake.

settle. Too symmetrical one moment, then subtly wrong the next. His eyes cycle through impossible colors—violet blending into gold, then abyssal black, then something which isn’t a

blink, his hair growing and shortening and changing texture constantly. Beautiful, but the kind where my brain hurts just trying

leaves tracers in my vision. "The Order is watching your every move. Balance is ready to intervene. And

my chin up, and his

"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 me. It snarls, the

had. The movement feels instinctual, primal—and strangely, it doesn’t come from me alone. I’m

Caine.

power surges through the connection, fierce and primal and alive in a way I’ve never felt before. My fingers dig into whatever surface I’m on,

he watches me. "Fated wolves are

stands up straight—or at least I think he does. His height flickers too, sometimes towering, sometimes merely tall, never settling on 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 shape of his mouth and

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

steadiness rattles me more

in this place. But I am, and strangely, the air feels wonderful—cool and clean, filling my lungs and easing the weight from my

into a beautiful, golden-haired face before shifting away. He sports a giant, bushy beard now, and heavy brows. His nose wrinkles as he squints at me. "Though we don’t even get to see the juicy parts

in his voice sends heat rushing to

the weight holding down my body, it feels like it’s holding onto this space. He clicks his tongue, the sound unnaturally sharp. "Damn. They’ve already noticed you’re