Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 146: Grace: Zero to Sexty

Caine tries to jerk his hand back, but I hold on, my fingers tightening around his wrist. No way I’m letting him pull away now. The strange current between us is back, and I’m determined to figure it out, damn it.

Otherwise I can’t hold Bun.

"It’s too dangerous," he snaps, but his resistance is already faltering. Though his muscles remain taut with tension, he stops trying to break free of my grip.

"I’m never going to learn to control whatever this is if you don’t touch me," I say, my voice far steadier than the lack of certainty in my head. I can feel it, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be able to control it. Still, I want to try. "You can’t protect me by keeping me in the dark about my own power, Caine."

He groans, dropping his head forward until his dark hair falls across his face. "Look at yourself, Grace. You’re exhausted. Weak. You need rest, not... experiments."

"I feel fine right now." I straighten my spine, trying to look stronger than I probably appear. "You just need to stop if I start looking... bad."

A corner of his mouth twitches up despite everything; I can see it, even from this angle. "You’ll never look bad."

I blink, momentarily thrown off balance. "Are you seriously flirting with me in the middle of this conversation?" I push indignation into my voice even as I fight the smile threatening to form. Butterflies dance in my belly.

He looks up with a sigh, but his mouth is still half-quirked in amusement. "You’re killing me, Grace."

Goddess. Every time he says my name...

Dear and darling do it, too.

like that, I’m drowning in a sea of

though?" I counter, trying to make the atmosphere a

throat. It doesn’t help the throbbing down below, damn it. "That’s not what

not to

concentrating." I turn his palm around, my heart racing as I slide my hand against his. Even the slide of his callused palm against mine sends frissons of

squeezing slightly as I focus on the strange sensation flowing between us and not the throbbing between my thighs. This time it’s easier to feel. Not just sense, but actually feel the current passing from

eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate harder. My face scrunches.

energy is, I need to grab it, control it. But it’s like trying to hold water—completely fluid, passing through my mental "hands" no matter

and alive, connecting our joined hands. I can see our fingers, or at least strange, luminous outlines

threads with my consciousness. They respond, vibrating like

mind but out loud, the sound rumbling from his chest and shaking the bed

eyes snap open, but I don’t lose the sensation. The golden threads remain visible in my mind’s eye even as I focus on Caine’s face. His jaw is clenched, cheeks flushed with

again, experimenting, and his whole body goes rigid. His eyes darken, pupils expanding until there’s barely any gray left, and they

he exudes

I—" The words die in my throat as he

and hungry. The force of his movement sends me falling backward onto the bed, his weight pressing me down into the mattress. The energy between us explodes from controlled threads

into my mouth with bruising urgency. His hands move down my body with frantic need, finding my breasts and squeezing them through my shirt, fingers digging

as I try to wrest his off; we’re a tangled mess

Except it doesn’t.

but

grab at