Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 197: Grace: Dark Fashion

Don’t let anyone know I’m your mate, I’d told Caine with all the confidence of a girl whose borne countless hours of bullying in this pack.

Past Grace is Stupid. Capital S and all.

Granted, I had no idea Ellie would jump from basic bullying to attempted murder, but whatever—I should have known it was a possibility when her fated mate was sneaking around behind her back to try and keep me as his little side piece lover.

Wolves don’t play when it comes to their mates, and a girl like Ellie has too much pride to ever lose to a human like me.

At least if Caine had stayed with me, she wouldn’t have had the balls to grab me as soon as I ran off on my own.

Then again, she’s clearly lacking any intelligence or rationality whatsoever, so who knows. Maybe it would have made it all worse.

I mean, she even thinks I’ve been talking to her father!

Hopefully he’s the cause behind all her bruises. She clearly needs a stronger hand in parenting.

I glance at my phone again and vault over a fence, shocking myself with the fluid motion. Since when can I do parkour? My body launches over the wooden slats like I’ve been clearing obstacles my whole life instead of ducking pack bullies.

No time to question it now. The Guardian dot on my screen pulses brighter as I close in. I’m moving fast—unnaturally fast. Not werewolf fast, but definitely not normal-human-girl-who-gets-winded-walking-up-stairs fast either.

The shifters who were tailing me have disappeared from view, which isn’t as comforting as it sounds. They can track my scent as easily as reading a neon sign. But right now, beating this timer matters more than whatever game of supernatural cat-and-mouse Ellie’s forced me to play.

I skid to a stop when my phone indicates I’ve reached the destination, with two minutes and twelve seconds to spare. My lungs burn like I’ve inhaled fire. I double over, one hand clutching my side where a stitch pulses with each labored breath.

Nothing.

Nobody.

Just an empty parking lot surrounding an abandoned building—the old alpha lodge. Half of it stands charred and crumbling, a skeleton of its former grandeur after the fire that ripped through it a couple decades ago. I don’t know the full story, just fragments.

"Hello?" I gasp out, checking the map once again.

Yep. This is the right place.

at the stitch, as if I can physically beat the cramp into submission. Each breath hurts, but

Still empty.

has

A new private message.

job. You

probably making myself a target for every shifter with a grudge, for

the fuck

originated from the Divinity app and is (I think) from

you the person I was supposed to

The response is immediate.

[CAERIEL: Consider us met.]

stare at my screen, rage building in my chest. This cryptic bullshit is all I get for my

all the way here just to send me a

dots appear, disappear, appear again. Just like text messages. It makes me wonder what came first—the app

Then:

The journey matters. Your capacity

watching it skitter across the cracked pavement. It’s entirely possible I’m shooting myself

For what? Running? I could’ve told you I’m not exactly track

yet you arrived with time to spare, outpacing shifters. Interesting for

My breath catches.

ankles broken. And the

Who

[CAERIEL: Ask Lyre.]

Lyre. Of course.

Are you one of her

wonder if he’s part of the fan

pulses for nearly thirty seconds

[CAERIEL: Better.]

at the edge of the parking lot catches my eye. A figure appears—tall, impossibly slender, dressed all in black. Carrying a giant, ornate scythe... and a