Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 145: Grace: The Deal with Pillows

I sit upright in bed, glaring at Caine, who clutches my old pillow against his chest like some kind of security blanket. His knuckles are white against the pale cotton, and he’s avoiding my eyes with the dedication of someone who’s been caught doing something deeply embarrassing.

"This one’s more comfortable for you," he says, nodding at the pillow he just slid under my head.

"What is your deal with pillows?" The words snap out of me before I can stop them.

His entire body straightens further. "I don’t have a deal with pillows."

The silence stretches.

And stretches.

He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, rigid and awkward, clutching the damn pillow to his chest.

I sigh, and he immediately asks, "Why are you so angry?"

"I’m not angry." The response is automatic, defensive, and a total lie to my current state of emotions.

He raises an eyebrow, skepticism written across every part of his face, and I wince.

"I’m not," I insist. The truth is, I do think the pillow thing is creepy. Weird. Inexplicable. But saying so would hurt his feelings, and despite how irritated I am in this moment, I don’t actually want to do that.

"No. You’re angry," he says firmly, like he already knows. Which... he isn’t wrong, so he does, but even his certainty grates on my nerves. "You’ve been angry for a while. And I don’t understand what I did wrong."

I groan, pressing my palms against my face. I’m not prepared for this emotional reckoning. Not now. I was still busy pouting and being outraged and hadn’t worked through my feelings completely. The storm left me dizzy and off-kilter, and I was relying on sleep to fix it.

lap, twisting the blanket between my fingers. It’s warm in here since we kicked off the air conditioner, but the faint hint of a cool

and pathetic, lowering further into a mumble as I continue, "But every time you

me..."

curtain of blonde hair I’m still not

me again. His brow is furrowed, eyes serious, the storm-gray of

your energy," he says calmly. "Of course I can’t

"What?"

brain screeches to a halt. Did he

repeats, with the flat certainty of someone

process these words that make no sense. "What are you talking about?"

I came in here and you were unconscious, still holding her. Bun is fatal to you right now, and I’m not risking it. With any of

My heart twists. "Fatal?"

once, sharp and precise. "It must have been triggered with her

squeeze both sides of my head together, feeling a little like my skull is trying to split apart. "Are we sure? Maybe I just fainted."

constant affection. I can’t just not touch her. "This doesn’t make sense. I was just... tired. Exhausted. The storm was weird. I’m not used to mothering four

"You were dying, Grace."

me again. He believes what he’s saying. And...

I don’t want

my anger flaring hot again. Better to be angry than deal with whatever’s really going on, because I can’t touch Bun. "Why keep it a secret and just... just manage me like I’m some kind of invalid? You’ve been treating me like glass, keeping the kids away, doing

"Grace."

like it’s going to collapse beneath him. By the way it’s dipping, it might. He clears his throat and scoots up a little closer, and the mattress no longer dips. Of

This man is trying to protect me, and he’s shown me how far he can go

the pillow in his arms, and he sighs. "It has some special power over me. Calms me when nothing else has. Keeps my thoughts clear. For the