Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 151: Grace: On a Scale of One to Ten...

My body feels like someone’s buried me in wet cement, on top of every cell in my body pulsing with a low, electric hum.

It isn’t painful. It’s just... there.

Present.

Like background noise. noveldrama

I flutter my eyes open, squinting against the dark ceiling. It’s definitely morning—there’s light peeking around the room-darkening blinds—but no idea what time.

Hell, it could be afternoon.

The air conditioner’s on, too. I wonder if someone was smart enough to close the window. They must have, because I can hear the generator running, but it’s muffled.

Stretching is a whole process, involving groaning and trying to untangle myself from the sheets, evidence of restless sleep and...

Oh, sweet Goddess.

All the memories flood back. Caine’s hands, his mouth, the golden threads connecting us, the freaking bite, his face when he came all over my hands—and my cheeks flame instantly. I shift, feeling the ache between my thighs, the tender spot on my neck where his teeth met my skin, and a strange internal vibration which hasn’t quite gone away.

A little girl’s squeal rings out from outside, followed by Caine’s deep voice.

"Bun, don’t put that in your mouth. That’s dirt. We don’t eat dirt."

I scramble to the edge of the bed and pull the black fabric shades back just a little, enough to peek through the side.

Caine’s standing with his back to my window, holding Bun upside down by her ankles while she giggles uncontrollably. Sara and Jer are chasing each other with sticks. Ron’s using Fenris as some sort of furry pillow as he snoozes in the sunlight.

They look... normal. Happy. Like a family.

Huh. And the strange, foreboding feeling is completely gone.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as my feet hit the floor. My body doesn’t just ache—it buzzes, like my entire body’s been wrapped around a battery.

If I had to guess (not like it’s a hard one to figure out), this has something to do with our... shenanigans.

There’s no time to contemplate it. I need coffee, a shower, and to look even semi-human. Caine had changed all the sheets last night during my shower—another reason he’s amazing and doesn’t deserve the frustration I’d thrown his way yesterday—and I’m feeling a little...

Well.

Useless?

Seriously. A girl’s gotta earn her keep these days.

Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I shuffle toward the bedroom door. Mistake number one is looking in the mirror.

Jesus.

I look like I’ve been electrocuted.

Sleeping with wet hair doesn’t always end well.

A brisk brushing of hair and teeth later, I step into the main living area of the camper, only to jerk to a stop.

Lyre sits at the dinette, one leg folded under her, scrolling through her phone with a deep furrow between her eyebrows. Her slitted eyes flick across the screen rapidly. She doesn’t look up.

"Hi, Grace."

"Uh... morning, Lyre. When did you come in?"

"Last night. We slept together, but I don’t think you noticed."

Definitely did not notice. Probably could have had an atom bomb go off at my feet and I wouldn’t notice.

Well—obviously a bad metaphor, since I would have died immediately.

But you get the point.

Feeling a little guilty with all the memories of things I definitely should not have been doing (in her bed, no less!), I trudge my way to the coffee maker. One step at a time. Just need to get the coffee going, and then—

A sharp curse cuts through the silence as Lyre slams her phone face-down on the table.

I turn, startled by the noise, and find her staring directly at me. Her cat-like eyes are laser-focused, seeing through me rather than at me.

I flinch.

And then, terrifyingly, her eyes focus on me again. The wrath behind them disappears.

Instead, she smiles. It’s sweet and knowing and I am so, so screwed.

On a scale of fuck-ups from one to ten, I’m pretty sure playing with your boyfriend’s dick on your best friend’s bed is a ten. Maybe a twelve.

"I heard you two fucked last night," she says pleasantly, as if commenting on the weather.

Heat explodes across my face as I stutter, "Wha—no! We didn’t—I mean—not all the way—"

My hands fly up, hovering uselessly in front of me as if they could push her words away. How does she even know? Was she watching? Did Caine tell her? How much did he tell her?!

She cuts through my panic with a drawl, "I made it very clear. No touching."

It feels a little like getting caught by your mom.

My shoulders slump. "It wasn’t supposed to go that far..."

I wrap my arms around myself, remembering what a great idea it seemed in the moment—touching him, feeling the energy, thinking I could control it. The memory of power surging between us makes my skin tingle, even now.

The rainbow-haired witch snaps her fingers sharply and points at me. "Exactly. That’s why you can’t touch him."

She leans forward, her voice hardening. "You can’t trust your mind once you’ve established a link. He’ll devour you. Body and soul. Neither of you have the control to fight it. Even if he should, he doesn’t. I guess the knowledge has died out in recent generations."

A chill races down my spine. Not like she hasn’t warned me before; as she’s so clearly stated, she has.

But that’s not what it felt like. It felt like... connection. Understanding...

"You can feel it now, can’t you?" Lyre asks, her head tilted. "The arcana. When he touches you."

I nod slowly, awkwardly turning away to make my coffee. I clearly need some caffeine for this conversation. "Yeah... I can see it now. Like... threads? Golden threads connecting us. I can see them, but not with my eyes, if that makes sense."

Glancing over my shoulder lets me observe her expression shift. She leans back, chin resting on her hand, a strange thoughtfulness replacing her anger. She studies me with her unnerving cat-slit eyes, and I have the distinct impression she’s seeing more than just me.

Like whatever vision I could use to see the threads of energy yesterday.

Only the air conditioner and the muffled generator tell me time’s still flowing. Then a burst of laughter from outside. Sara. Maybe Jer.

Then Lyre says, softly but clearly:

"You met Chaos, didn’t you?"

I blink at her. Then blink again. "How’d you know?"