Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 185: Grace: Middle of the Night

When the storm wakes me at two thirty-seven in the morning, it’s a relief.

For whatever reason, my dreams were infested with zombies. There’s only so much running away from the undead a girl can handle dreaming about—which is zilch, by the way—and I’m way above my quota with one night alone.

Drenched in sweat, I slip out of bed. Sara and Bun don’t even twitch on their two-thirds of the mattress, cordoned off with a pile of rolled up blankets and body pillows Caine acquired from the store.

He’s insistent on reducing even the possibility of accidental touches, even though I can’t feel anything when I touch Bun. It’s only Caine who seems to pull my energy out.

Lyre hadn’t given much explanation when I explained it to her, not that we had much time to talk about it in between... everything else. Just said Bun needed the stabilization, and I should know my limits. But, of course, the Lycan King doesn’t agree, saying if I knew my limits I wouldn’t have fallen unconscious.

Reaching out, I brush my fingers against Bun’s ankle, focusing on the brief contact. But there’s nothing. No sudden rush of magic, no feeling of anything draining from me.

Perhaps it only happens when she’s out of control. Lyre said it was stabilization, so such a scenario would make the most sense.

Which begs the question: what’s wrong with Caine, for him to require it at all times?

I scrub at my face and sigh, heading silently into the bathroom, where I can at least stretch my legs a little, since getting back to sleep feels a little impossible right now.

The phone’s built-in flashlight comes in handy as I stealthily close both bathroom doors before finally flicking on the overhead lights, blinking a little in the sudden brightness.

It’s quiet.

Outside, the sound of an occasional car makes it through the walls. But where we are, in the back of the parking lot, there isn’t much going on, leaving things surprisingly quiet.

off, followed by my bra, and inhale the slightly musty air. The storm thuds against the roof with incessant, heavy rain,

tap, careful to keep the water pressure low. You can hear everything in this

water brings relief as I squeeze the now-wet cloth over my skin, rivulets sliding down to catch in my

to wash away the remnants of those endless zombie dreams

cooker tonight. With the unseasonable heat passing and cooler fall temperatures finally making its way to the area, the rain’s forced us to shut every window. Without a cross-breeze or the air conditioner running, we rely on fans to circulate the stagnant,

for a few hours would drain us too much. The thought of cool air makes me close my eyes

who knows how we’ll be

thought of seeing his face makes my stomach roil with nausea, and I scrub a little harder against my collarbones, forgetting I’m just trying to

think about Rafe and

door swings

pressed to my chest, tiny streams of water streaming down my stomach and

stands in

one electric second before they drop, tracing the curves of my

I shiver.

storm outside seems to

many times I smell the man, I can’t quite pin down what he smells like. It’s just uniquely him and right now, it’s overpowering in the bathroom as he steps inside and

wrist, my throat, between my

His gaze burns a path

hand is useless as a shield, and his gaze roves over

clear my throat

was

the sexiness of my nudity with my