Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 163: Grace: What Jer Saw

My lungs burn from the effort of dashing to Jer’s scream.

Even then, I trail far behind Lyre and Owen, who have the advantage of supernatural speed.

I hate it.

Hate being human and slow when a child needs me.

These kids are vulnerable, and I’m supposed to be watching over them—what was I thinking, letting him dash off like this?

Easy: Jer was being Jer. Overexcited about the idea of taking a dog with us, even if we don’t need it and she belongs to other people. I didn’t think twice about his exuberance as he bounded off to "ask for permission". I should have.

By the time I reach the Archie and Doris’s camper site, everything’s already in motion. Broad-shouldered Owen pushes his way into the trailer first, disappearing into the doorway. Lyre, on the other hand, reaches inside and drags Jer backward, away from whatever he’s seen.

As soon as he spots me, the boy bolts from Lyre’s grip. He slams into me, arms wrapping around my waist so tight I almost stagger back. His entire body trembles against mine, his face buried in my chest. I curl my hands around his shoulders instinctively, one palm moving to cradle the back of his head.

Whatever he saw is bad. Bad enough to shake a rambunctious seven- or eight-year-old boy.

Lyre stands behind Owen in the RV doorway, peering around his bulk. She lets out a long sigh. "I knew it."

"I should have noticed," he agrees, his voice tight with frustration.

"They hid it well enough." Her tone is flat; whatever horror is inside, it hasn’t affected her. "They knew what they were doing."

My stomach knots into multiple tiny pretzels. "What’s wrong?"

voice comes out muffled and small. "They’re

and Doris—the sweet elderly couple who’d welcomed us with barbecue

without looking back, stepping

her order and kneels beside us. I loosen my grip on Jer just enough for Owen to reach

voice calm

words don’t make

utterly

me. "Vessels.

is that possible?" I ask, still holding Jer

he says,

leave your body, take a stroll, and pop

if that’s the case? Of course Owen’s not explaining—he’s worried about

is seriously getting

the App, but

chest. "No. They’re dead. I saw them." His shoulders shake harder, little tremors rippling through his

me to a familiar approach, and I glance over my shoulder to see

fur stirs in the

Or

area before landing

despite the tight look on his

too wide and dry for how much he’s trembling. "The old people. They’re dead now."

ache. He’s trying to be brave in front of