Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 202: Grace: Intruder Alert

The knock comes again and Sadie launches into another frantic round of guard-barking, making my already pounding head throb harder.

Holding the frying pan up sounds easy, but it doesn’t take long for the weight to start wearing on my wrist. It’s an eye-opening example of precisely how weak I am.

"Grace? Grace Harper?" The voice outside carries a rough edge of irritation now. It’s male, deep, and both generic and vaguely familiar.

But vaguely familiar could mean anyone; I don’t recognize every Blue Mountain pack voice. Just the ones I run into all the time.

I grip the skillet tighter, my knuckles aching and arms trembling. Partly from exhaustion, partly from the rush of adrenaline still making its way through my system, and a lot because what the fuck, I am so sick of this insanity and how I don’t get a chance to sit down and relax.

Seriously. Is a movie night too much to ask for?

Maybe lunch outside in a cool breeze?

But no, I don’t get family movies or pretty picnic lunches. I get chased through my old pack lands and strangers knocking on my camper door.

"Aren’t you gonna answer it?" Jer asks curiously, still watching me from his spot on the dinette bench.

Sara delivers a swift elbow to his ribs, making him yelp. "Read the room!" she whispers fiercely. "She’s going to kill him with the frying pan."

Her little brother rubs at his chest, looking thoroughly offended and also unimpressed. "Yeah, well, it isn’t Rapunzel’s frying pan, so I don’t think it’s going to work."

"It isn’t a special

frying pan, you dingus."

"If you want to get specific, it’s cast iron. Cast iron is heavy. Whatever Grace is using is just those cheap nonstick pans you get for like, ten dollars."

Reasonable Ron strikes again, but somehow he’s more irritating than the other two.

"Shut up," I hiss, waving the pan in a frantic shooing motion toward the living room area. "All of you, get back. Now."

Is it appropriate to tell children to shut up? Pretty sure it isn’t.

parenting gig, and I think I’ve already broken, like, ten of them. Maybe twenty. Or a

herds the younger siblings while Bun stares at me

"But—" Jer starts.

to that deadly serious

stole it from

don’t think mine works as well, because they retreat with obvious reluctance, shooting glances over their shoulders as they do

her manic barking by the door, though the

the door continues, his irritation obviously

it to the window. My legs still feel like jelly and I keep smacking elbows and feet against different things, but I’m intent on keeping

out the side of the blinds to see who’s

rocket toward my

of the camper is a Lycan. Not just any Lycan—one of the ones who was here earlier, with the scarred

blinds fall back into

Grace. Open

my first name? We’re strangers. He should

I call through the blinds and

instead of a solid eighteen, but give

don’t open the door, I’m

grip the frying pan

Caine claimed the children, but now their identity as his kids is useful.

if he doesn’t like

break down this door," he snaps.

of my first name

so awkward I’m not even sure if I should be angry. Seriously, who goes around calling people human? I feel

"Does he think he’s some sort

say at the

open this door, or I’m breaking

head throbs even harder. "No,

humans very much," Ron explains calmly, continuing