Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 198: Grace: No Effect on Her Chastity

"Fascination with the banal has never been one of my vices," Caeriel says, sounding displeased and... snooty.

It takes a little longer than I’d like to admit for his insults to pierce through the haze of confusion over meeting a Grim Reaper (with a phone!) in an abandoned parking lot, but once it does, I frown in his direction. "Maybe ask for favors less creepily, then."

This man can probably kill me with a flick of his wrist, but somehow I can’t help the snark coming out of me every time I talk.

I don’t like him.

He doesn’t seem like a good person.

And I really hope he isn’t Lyre’s friend, because we might have to have a small chat about who she keeps around her. I know she isn’t super fond of Caine, but at least Caine wouldn’t make me run to meet him and then make me leave...

Then again, he might do it to someone else.

Still, something in my gut insists Caeriel is bad news bears, and I have no interest in becoming friends with the man.

Caeriel rubs a slender, pale finger against his forehead as he lets out a calm, distinctly condescending sigh.

"Rest assured, any favors would have no effect on your chastity."

Then he looks at me with faint disgust, his eyes going from my head to my toes in one smooth, dismissive flick.

Well, excuse me for reading his strangely intent aura wrong.

I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers digging into my arms as I mutter, "I don’t think we’re close enough for favors, though."

His lips twist, then tighten into a thin line, and his silver eyes narrow slightly.

"Did she tell you about me?" His voice drops lower, and the intensity of his presence increases. A familiar oppression makes it hard to breathe in the suddenly thick air.

The hairs on my arms stand up and my stomach twists. Warning signals go off in every corner of my brain. Yeah. This is definitely the guy Lyre didn’t want to talk about, and I’m kind of starting to see why.

obsession written all over

I ask,

"Lyrielle."

There’s a strange accent in the way he says it, not like how I read it in my head, and the way he practically purrs it? No

emo Grim Reaper, I’d imagine

on my face. My pulse quickens as Caeriel takes

said," he demands, his voice quiet

and no matter how I try to drag my gaze away, I

shiver runs down my

My throat tightens.

manage, even if the words come out in little more than

bizarre obligation this app demanded. And somewhere not far behind me, there are shifters probably

with someone with an ambiguous connection to the most powerful person I know. Especially in an abandoned

ask a lot of questions about his outfit and the scythe, but it’s clear distance is the better part of life

features arrange themselves into a scowl.

and I make a whole show out of checking my phone, my fingers trembling as I swipe through random screens. Maybe if I look busy enough, he’ll get

"What are you doing?"

I do. "Checking the mission parameters. And nowhere does it say I have to answer personal

further, but I plow ahead

a step backward. "But I’m busy.

forward for every step I take back.

to leave," he says, still calm.

stomach drops.

it, the words blurt out of

something you might consider a smile—on anyone else. On him, it just looks like he’s studying

veins. "You don’t have a choice. You can’t complete this mission without me. But I’ll let you run for now, scared little girl.

of a bitch. This must mean Ellie

doubles as I risk a glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Ellie standing

lot remains

my gut knows he’s not