Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 44: Grace: Do You Believe in Fate?

After dinner, Lyre applies the scar cream to my back, apparently unfazed by the raised blemishes on my skin. The emollient is cool at first, but slowly begins to burn.

"Give it about thirty minutes," Lyre says, screwing the lid back onto the ointment jar. "Just lay there. It’s going to hurt for a bit, but the pain will disappear soon."

Grunting, I shove up onto my elbows, looking at her over my shoulder. "Are you sure it’s safe? It’s burning my skin."

"Its effectiveness comes with a price." She tosses the jar next to me. "Trust me. In half an hour, your scars will be a memory. Just don’t touch it."

Fiddling with the remote, I nod. "Got it." Thankfully, with access to this back living room, I have the daybed to lie on and TV to watch, so I won’t be bored. Even if it is awkward to be topless around someone who’s essentially a stranger.

Lyre settles into the couch across from me, scrolling through her phone. She doesn’t need much to entertain herself, spending most of her time on the small device. Evenings with her have been peaceful and silent. Usually, I read one of her books—she has several—while she browses the internet.

Starting the next episode of the TV series I’d started earlier, I try to pay attention to the plot. Magical academy, a girl with secret powers, and the boys who fall in love with her... The writing is subpar, but reminds me of the awkward lines I’ve heard recently from Rafe and Ellie. It’s probably why I’ve become invested in this story; I want to see her come out on top and watch the antagonists get what they deserve.

Revenge isn’t something I have the power to attain, so I’m living vicariously through characters on screen.

But now, I can’t focus on the plot or the over-the-top acting as my mind keeps wandering to Lyre’s question. How did my wounds heal so quickly, while my wrist hasn’t? What strange phenomenon is behind it?

But then I shy away from the answers coming to mind.

I’m human. I’ve been human all my life, and I never expected to be anything else. Aside from Alpha’s—Brax’s—strange assumption I was his biological daughter... No one’s ever suspected otherwise. I have never suspected otherwise.

I’ve never healed faster than a wolf, and I have no powers to my name. There’s no superhuman strength or speed hiding in this body of mine. Even if I had some wounds heal a little faster than what might be considered normal; so what? Stranger things have happened in this world.

I grab the remote and rewind the show, huffing quietly to myself. Dwelling on these mysteries will only lead me down a spiral of questions with no answers. And, even if there are answers, I’m not entirely certain I want to know those answers.

How many nights had I spent wondering why Alpha took me in only to throw me away? Why Rafe claimed to love me while choosing Ellie? Some questions just lead to more pain.

The show reloads to where the protagonist first meets who I think is her third love interest in this magical academy. I’d completely missed the last fifteen minutes.

"You okay over there?" Lyre asks, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. The blue light casts an eerie glow on her face, and her slitted eyes seem to glow.

"Fine." I shift my position on the daybed, careful to keep my bare chest pressed against the sheets. "Just missed some parts of the show."

My shoulders roll back instinctively, and I notice something different. The burning sensation crawling across my back is fading, now less like thousands of hot, stabbing needles and more like an overly warm heating pad. The relief makes me sigh out loud.

"Hey, is it okay if I put my shirt back on yet?" I ask, already reaching toward the folded t-shirt beside me. The evening air is cool against my exposed skin, and despite Lyre’s casual attitude, I’m not entirely comfortable being half-naked in front of someone I’ve known for less than a week.

Lyre finally looks up from her phone, her gaze assessing as she studies my back. "Give it another ten minutes."

She pauses, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. Her lips move silently, and it takes me a second to realize she’s... counting? Her fingers twitch slightly with each unspoken number. The gesture seems oddly methodical for something as simple as how long cream should stay on skin.

Eventually, she grunts and nods. "Yeah, ten minutes is probably still safe."

Safe? That’s an interesting word choice for skin cream.

"Am I going to get cancer or something if I leave this on too long?" I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice. The burning had been intense, almost unnatural. What kind of healing ointment causes that much pain?

Lyre’s attention returns to her phone, thumb scrolling with practiced ease. "The ointment isn’t what I’m worried about," she says absently.

I push myself up on my elbows again, twisting to look at her. "What does that mean?" My heartbeat quickens. "If not the ointment, then what?"

She doesn’t answer immediately, which only amplifies my unease. The hairs on my arms stand up. "Lyre?"

"Someone’s been following us," she finally says, still scrolling. "Not Andrew. Well, yes Andrew, but someone else too."

My breath catches. "Wolves?"

Her finger pauses.

I scramble upright, snatching a pillow to cover my chest. "Lyre, did they find me? You know something, don’t you?"

Lyre sighs and sets her phone on her belly as she closes her eyes. "Don’t worry so much."

"Don’t worry?" My voice cracks as it reaches a new pitch. "You just told me someone’s following me, and now you’re saying don’t worry?" The pillow slips in my grip, and I clutch it tighter against my chest. "That’s not helping me worry less."

She keeps her eyes closed, considering this for a moment. The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the murmur of the TV show I’ve completely forgotten about. Finally, she nods. "Fair assessment. I’m not helping."

She turns her head to look at me, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the camper like a cat’s. "Tell me. Do you believe in fate, Grace?