Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 142: Grace: Acting Weird

Caine’s acting weird. Too polite, too friendly, too... everything not-Caine. He’s smiling—not smirking, actually smiling—at the middle children as they dance around the campfire.

The elderly couple, Archie and Doris (we finally introduced each other by name), poke at the massive fire they’ve built in their stone-ringed pit. A smoker sits off to the side, ribs already going inside. Apparently they’ve been going all day.

The smell of them makes my stomach growl, but something about this whole setup just feels... strange.

"This is my brat-dance!" Jer announces, performing some chaotic bounce and wiggle; it looks like he’s being electrocuted. Or having a seizure. Or both.

Sara rolls her eyes. "It’s called the floss, dummy. And you’re doing it wrong." She demonstrates with quick, precise arm movements, though her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "See? Arms straight."

"I’m not a dummy. I just made it better!"

Archie chuckles and shuffles over to join them. "Let me try," he says, swinging his arms with creaky enthusiasm.

As terrible as it sounds, he makes the dance look like some painful physiotherapy exercise.

It would be charming—sweet, even—if not for how unsettled I feel. I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong exactly, and there’s absolutely no reason to suspect these two sweet old neighbors.

Which means it must be Caine and his bizarre level of friendliness.

"Bun, no!" The man in question bolts after the toddler, who’s wandered dangerously close to the fire for the third time in five minutes. He moves with calculated speed, scooping her up and redirecting her away from the flames.

"No!" Bun shrieks, squirming in his arms.

"No." His voice is firm, but gentle.

He sets her down several feet from the fire pit, and like a heat-seeking missile, she immediately pivots and toddles back toward danger. Caine follows, shadows her movements, redirects again. It’s a dance they’ve been performing since we arrived, and despite his obvious frustration, he hasn’t snapped once.

Bun breaks free from his watchful eye for just a second—long enough to hurl her sippy cup directly into the fire pit.

The plastic immediately starts to melt and smoke. Bun’s face crumples, and she stands in the dirt and wails, face to the sky, like the world’s just ended.

Because she threw her own cup into the fire.

logic. I’ve vaguely heard of it, but seeing

Caine is faster. He crouches by the fire, somehow extracts the half-melted remnant with a stick, and grunts, "It’s fine." As if retrieving melting plastic from open flames

of losing her cup. Sadie ambles over and sniffs curiously at

transform into

All better," Caine murmurs, rubbing her

this man, and what has he done with the Lycan King? My heart can’t take it. It’s going to explode if he calls me dear again, like

his arms frantically. "Come on, just

have developed an appreciation for the

her arms freezing mid-floss as she stares at Jer like he’s just committed suicide. Ron frowns at her, giving the faintest shake of

supposed to be pretending to be a happy family, but Sara keeps acting like

the shoulder—actually touches him without permission!—and announces, "It’s more fun than I expected," even

recognize the look. It’s how he looked when he was listening to Alpha Brax babble, right

the dance group. Jer’s delighted

Lycan King—ruler of all wolf shifters, nightmare of his enemies—attempts to floss. His

behind his hand, quickly masking it with

horrified, her hands to her mouth, but she can’t look

Fenris has cornered Sadie underneath it, his massive form blocking her escape. Bun yanks on his ear, but even so his stance radiates smug wolf superiority as Sadie yelps again and scrambles belly-first into

outclassed by the supernatural wolf, though I doubt

did, you’d think

list of things that don’t make sense is getting longer

meat glistens in the firelight, and I squint. It looks like there are diced onions in the

is already mixed in," she tells me, smiling wide. "Have you

not onions. Even

the blazing inferno Archie’s built. "Er... I’ve cooked hot

supposed to cook anything over this, though? It’s absolutely roaring. We’ll have charcoal on the

wait for it to burn down to embers. That’s when

cold pit forms in my stomach as I realize what she means.

a toddler who now lacks a sippy

tray of raw meat, reaching for it with gleeful

grab her tiny wrist,