Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 140: Caine: A Rescue Mutt

CAINE

My family.

Two simple words, and they’ve sunk their way deep into my chest, leading me to stand a little straighter. And if my face seems to glow a little, well, sometimes kings glow.

I adjust Bun against my hip, her little body surprisingly heavy for such a small thing, and her screaming suddenly sounds like music instead of a tantrum.

"NOOOOO!" she screams directly into my ear, her entire body rigid with want as she reaches both arms toward the golden retriever. Her shriek could shatter glass, but I just pat her little bottom with a smile.

"DA DA GA! DA DA GA!"

The old couple laugh, delighted by her enthusiasm. I remain smiling faintly, still patting the young child, completely neutral to the assault on my eardrums.

Let them see a man unbothered by a toddler’s tantrum.

Let them see a father.

"She really loves dogs, I guess," Grace explains, her face flushing pink. "I’m so sorry, she isn’t normally like this..."

Bun thrashes against my hold, her tiny little legs kicking my ribs hard enough to bruise a normal man. She’s too strong for a bunny shifter child. "DA DA GA!" she shrieks again.

I tighten my grip just enough. "No, Bun."

My voice carries no heat, no anger—just absolute finality. Kings don’t negotiate with two-year-olds, especially in front of a strange old couple who considers me her father.

Bun’s face crumples like she’s been mortally wounded. Her screams intensify for exactly eight more seconds before she goes completely limp, draping herself across my forearm in theatrical defeat. Her bottom lip pushes out, and her thumb finds its way to her mouth. She fixes the retriever with a look of such profound longing that I almost—almost—feel bad.

But I don’t put her down.

Grace, on the other hand, looks at me like I’m the worst being on this planet for letting her get to this point.

She’s soft. It’s a good thing. Kids need a soft mother.

The old woman’s eyes crinkle with amusement. "Looks like you’ve got your hands full."

I nod, allowing her the smallest smile. My hands are indeed full—with a soulspliced toddler and her chaotic shifting abilities. My arms cradle a child who, only half an hour ago, transformed into something feral and tried to tear her family apart. But beyond that, my chest swells with something dangerously close to pride.

Family.

holding a baby while a beautiful blonde woman entertains conversation beside me, and our three other

and my ego

a stick, waving it over

joins in, grabbing another stick off the ground. There are plenty.

"Can not!"

bigger, so I can

"Physics, Sara. It’s physics."

Ron. You know what I

stick with surprising force for a seven-year-old, Sadie doesn’t move. When Sara’s

deliberate slowness, and then ambles over to Grace’s feet. The dog plops down directly

jaw tightens. My eyes

such affection to my mate. Between my presence, and Fenris, she should be hiding in their camper, unwilling to

as if my Grace is a dog whisperer—she’s just a woman. My

harder against Grace’s legs, and I have to

you!" the old

the retriever, reaching to

catch it—the barest flicker of something in the dog’s eyes. Something intelligent.

Fuck this mutt.

of black fur streaks past. Fenris plants himself in front of the retriever, lips pulled back to expose teeth the size of steak knives. His growl vibrates even the ground

Grace stumbles backward. "Fenris!"

herself to the ground, belly scraping dirt as she scrambles behind Jer and Sara. Within seconds, the

settles onto his haunches directly in front of Grace. He licks his chops with deliberate slowness, curling his tongue around his own muzzle while staring directly

Show-off.

as I inhale deeply. Blueberry muffins mix with the over-clean scent of the storm’s aftermath, and it’s back to calming me down. The chaotic energy building inside me recedes

almost calm. Almost placid. Even with my suspicion

not a normal dog, Fenris says in my head, his mental voice dripping with disdain. But it doesn’t seem to have any

stare at the retriever, now peeking from behind Sara’s legs with the most pathetic expression I’ve ever seen on a

there, I reply dryly. What amazing observational skills you have, king of all

head toward me, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. The old

says, his eyes widening as he leans

wolf preens, raising his

can physically feel the wolf’s outrage slam into me through our bond. A mutt? The ancestral wolf spirit of the Lycan Kings, a creature of legend and magic, reduced to

her sleep, Fenris seethes, his mental voice practically vibrating

You will not

I counter, fighting to keep my face neutral. Apparently his devotion to Grace

dare she. After all I... a mutt? She calls