Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 152

Chapter 151: Grace: On a Scale of One to Ten...

My body feels like someone’s buried me in wet cement, on top of every cell in my body pulsing with a low, electric hum.

It isn’t painful. It’s just... there.

Present.

Like background noise.

I flutter my eyes open, squinting against the dark ceiling. It’s definitely morning—there’s light peeking around the room-darkening blinds—but no idea what time.

Hell, it could be afternoon.

The air conditioner’s on, too. I wonder if someone was smart enough to close the window. They must have, because I can hear the generator running, but it’s muffled.

Stretching is a whole process, involving groaning and trying to untangle myself from the sheets, evidence of restless sleep and...

Oh, sweet Goddess.

All the memories flood back. Caine’s hands, his mouth, the golden threads connecting us, the freaking bite, his face when he came all over my hands—and my cheeks flame instantly. I shift, feeling the ache between my thighs, the tender spot on my neck where his teeth met my skin, and a strange internal vibration which hasn’t quite gone away.

A little girl’s squeal rings out from outside, followed by Caine’s deep voice.

"Bun, don’t put that in your mouth. That’s dirt. We don’t eat dirt."

I scramble to the edge of the bed and pull the black fabric shades back just a little, enough to peek through the side.

Caine’s standing with his back to my window, holding Bun upside down by her ankles while she giggles uncontrollably. Sara and Jer are chasing each other with sticks. Ron’s using Fenris as some sort of furry pillow as he snoozes in the sunlight.

They look... normal. Happy. Like a family.

Huh. And the strange, foreboding feeling is completely gone.

feet hit the floor. My body doesn’t

like it’s a hard one to figure out), this has something to do

no time to contemplate it. I need coffee, a shower, and to look even semi-human. Caine had changed all the sheets last night

Well.

Useless?

girl’s gotta earn

hair, I shuffle toward the bedroom door. Mistake number one is looking in the

Jesus.

look like I’ve

hair doesn’t always end

into the main living area of the camper, only to

her, scrolling through her phone with a deep furrow between her eyebrows. Her slitted eyes flick across the screen rapidly. She doesn’t

"Hi, Grace."

Lyre. When did

together, but

atom bomb

bad metaphor, since I would have died

you get the

the memories of things I definitely should not have been doing (in her bed, no less!), I trudge my way

silence as

her staring directly at me. Her cat-like eyes are laser-focused, seeing through me

I flinch.

then, terrifyingly, her eyes focus on me again. The wrath behind them

smiles. It’s sweet and knowing

of fuck-ups from one to ten, I’m pretty sure playing with your

heard you two fucked last night," she says pleasantly, as if

face as I stutter, "Wha—no! We didn’t—I mean—not all

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