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.

looks at me like that, I’m drowning in a sea of tingly, throbbing

though?" I

low in his throat. It doesn’t help the

to talk

Even the slide of his callused palm against mine sends frissons of excitement through my skin, and I fight

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

shut as I concentrate harder. My face scrunches.

But it’s like trying to hold water—completely fluid, passing through my mental "hands"

joined hands. I can see our fingers, or at least

threads with my consciousness.

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

threads remain visible in my mind’s

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

exudes steals my

words die in my throat as he

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 a raging river—wild, untamable, impossible to

with bruising urgency. His hands move down my body

his hands shoves up my shirt as I try to wrest his off; we’re a tangled mess of kissing and shirts and oh my Goddess, his hand is in my

Except it doesn’t.

but

shirt off and grab at his other hand, shoving it