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

and my ego is

it over his head. "Hey,

stick off the ground. There are plenty. "Let

"Can not!"

too! I’m bigger, so I can throw harder. It’s

"Physics, Sara. It’s physics."

You know what I

launches his stick with surprising force for a seven-year-old, Sadie doesn’t move. When Sara’s stick sails even farther—I note with quiet

slowness, and then ambles over to Grace’s feet. The dog plops down directly onto them, looking up at her with

jaw tightens. My eyes

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

whisperer—she’s just a woman.

dog presses harder against Grace’s legs, and I have to fight back the urge to

you!" the old

at the retriever, reaching to scratch

of something in the dog’s eyes. Something

Fuck this mutt.

front of the retriever, lips pulled back to expose teeth the size of steak knives. His growl vibrates even the ground beneath our

Grace stumbles backward. "Fenris!"

the ground, belly scraping dirt as she scrambles behind Jer and Sara. Within seconds, the dog transforms from cheerful pet to terrified

of Grace. He licks his chops with deliberate slowness, curling his tongue around his own

Show-off.

loosens 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

his mental voice dripping with disdain. But it

peeking from behind Sara’s legs

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

me, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. The

some impressive canines," he says, his eyes widening as he

preens, raising his head a little

our bond. A mutt? The ancestral wolf spirit of

will eat her in her sleep, Fenris seethes, his

You will not

fighting to keep my face neutral. Apparently his devotion to Grace ends where his

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