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 it in action

extracts the half-melted remnant with a stick, and grunts, "It’s fine." As if retrieving melting plastic from open flames is something he does

losing her cup. Sadie ambles over and sniffs curiously at Bun’s bare

toddler’s sobs transform into

Caine murmurs, rubbing

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

yells, waving his arms frantically. "Come on,

to have developed an appreciation for the

Jer like he’s just committed suicide. Ron frowns at her, giving the faintest

supposed to be pretending to be a happy family, but Sara keeps acting like Caine’s about to

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

and I recognize the look. It’s how he looked when he was listening to Alpha Brax babble, right before he lost his temper. This must be the

the dance group. Jer’s delighted as he chatters instructions, demonstrating the move again with

wide-eyed, as the Lycan King—ruler of all wolf shifters, nightmare of his enemies—attempts to floss. His powerful arms move stiffly, his timing completely off. It’s the most awkward, endearing, terrifying thing I’ve

hand, quickly masking it with a cough when Caine glances his

hands to her mouth, but she can’t

Sadie underneath it, his massive form blocking her escape. Bun yanks on his ear, but even

outclassed by the supernatural wolf, though I doubt

if she did, you’d think

make sense is getting longer by

their camper with a large tray of raw burger patties and bratwursts. The meat

she tells me, smiling wide. "Have you ever cooked over open

Cheese, not onions.

blazing inferno Archie’s

supposed to cook anything over this, though? It’s absolutely

have to wait for it to burn

as I realize what she means. We’re going

King and a toddler who now lacks

raw meat, reaching for it with

no—don’t touch that." I grab her tiny wrist, pulling her hand