Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 193: Grace: Telepathy Failure

Settling into our little corner of Blue Mountain is not as easy as I thought it would be.

For one, Caine refuses to leave.

For two, having three more burly Lycans in Lyre’s camper has stretched its occupancy to max limit.

For three, every time I look out the damn window there’s at least five Blue Mountain shifters staring at us.

Considering how little traffic this place gets, it’s very clear they’re here to snoop. Which means my whole don’t let people know you’re my mate plan is going fucking swimmingly, on top of being incredibly worried the children will be mistreated by the assholes outside.

Funny—when I left here, I was still feeling guilty and terrible over all the deaths the Lycan King brought here.

Now I’m feeling like it wasn’t enough.

Strange how perspective changes things, though I’m more than a little worried my humanity’s going astray.

Sara leans over to cup her hand by my ear and stage-whisper, loud enough for literally everyone to hear, "Why are they all here, anyway?"

"I have no idea," I mutter back, shooting Caine a milk-curdling glare.

The three Lycans standing at attention before their king are vaguely familiar; at least one of them stood guard outside my door for a time.

But what’s far more concerning than their vague familiarity is how they keep swiveling their heads in my direction. And every single time, their nostrils flare wide enough to host a whole farm of honeybees.

They’re scenting me.

Repeatedly.

If I were actually an ordinary human girl and not raised by this pack, their behavior would rank somewhere between disturbing and call-the-police territory. But I’ve spent six years in the Blue Mountain Pack. I know how they catalog their world—sight second, sound third, and scent always first.

This doesn’t make it less nerve-wracking, though.

Jer, who apparently missed the day they taught children about indoor voices and social awareness, leans across Sara’s lap and announces at full volume, "Why do they keep staring at you like that? Shouldn’t they be bowing in front of their queen?"

drains from my face so fast I go

three of his Lycan goons go rigid, their eyes widening. It would be amusing on

a single nuance of this disaster as she hisses back, "Maybe they’re rude and he’s going to chop off their heads. Just shut up and

she sits in my lap, content to ignore the world for the tiny pieces of M&M

of us don’t exist, his face buried in one of Lyre’s books where he’s sitting on the couch. He’s the smartest

expressions a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. I shoot Caine my most desperate fix this right now

mercifully smooths his face into a blank royal mask. He clears his throat,

champion of the most graceless social maneuvers known to wolfkind,

nod like he’s just brilliantly defused a bomb instead of strapping additional explosives to

my eyes and draw in

My boyfriend’s an idiot.

chorus in unison, and Caine holds up a hand to interrupt

questions will be taken at

man think he’s holding a press

Sara,

replies, "I

only one I can rely on, drawls, "Didn’t you two idiots hear? Grace isn’t his mate.

with a troubled stare, then turns back

questions," Caine repeats, taking the opportunity

My face twitches.

he continues, ignoring his king’s

I shake my head tightly. He should just pretend he doesn’t know or care about

our relationship telepathy is still not working because he announces, "They

My shoulders stiffen.

Ron chokes on air.

Sara look at each other, then

mean we have to call him Dad?" he asks

He should be.

We’re all worried.

standing in front of us preening like a goddamn wolf in

"No," I snap.