Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 50: Grace: I Don’t Want to Go

Caine’s question kind of feels like a minefield waiting to happen, so I focus on something more important.

"Could you step back, please?" I ask, keenly aware of his proximity. My skin prickles where his breath touches the nape of my neck.

He doesn’t move. Not even an inch. If anything, he leans closer, his chest nearly brushing my back. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

"I asked you a question." His voice rumbles, deep and demanding. "Why are you so relieved to see him alive?"

Before I can answer, something large and furry forces its way between us. Fenris wedges his massive body into the sliver of space, effectively pushing Caine backward while pressing his warmth against my side. When I turn to rub his ears, he blinks his intelligent gray eyes at me in what almost seems like reassurance.

Wait. I squint in the dim lighting. Is he bigger now? Maybe it’s just the shadows playing tricks, but he seems more substantial, more imposing.

Did he get bigger so he could push Caine out of the way? If so, that’s... sweet.

"You need to respect her personal space," Lyre calls out, arms crossed as she leans against the frame of the camper’s doorway. "Not everyone appreciates being loomed over by strange men."

I’m falling more in love with Lyre every time she speaks.

Fenris lets out a soft huff that sounds suspiciously like agreement, nodding his massive head once before pressing harder against me.

I take a few deliberate steps away, circling around Andrew’s still-immobile form. To my surprise, Caine follows, moving in tandem with each step I take, like we’re engaged in some bizarre dance. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes never leave my face, tracking my movements with predatory focus.

Fenris stays between us, his massive body a living barrier. When Caine tries to step around him, the wolf snaps his jaws with a sharp click that makes the Lycan King stay back.

"Did he just—?" I start, shocked at Fenris’s rebellion.

"Yes," Caine’s beta says, his voice barely containing his amusement. "He did."

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Maybe Fenris isn’t such a traitor after all. Between leading Caine to me and now keeping him at bay, I’m not sure whose side the wolf is actually on. But right now, he seems to be on mine. I’ll take it.

"Grace." Lyre’s voice cuts through the tension. She steps down from the camper, her colorful hair catching the moonlight as she squints her cat-like eyes at me. "Do you want to go with them?"

The question hangs in the night air. Andrew shifts slightly in his uncomfortable position but doesn’t speak.

"No," I say, the word coming out clear and firm. "I don’t."

Caine’s jaw tightens. He reaches around his wolf, extending his hand toward mine. "Grace—"

The way he says my name makes my knees want to buckle. Thankfully, Fenris’s teeth snap at his fingers, missing by centimeters. Caine yanks his hand back with a curse, and I stay upright, even if I’m swaying a little.

"Stop it, Fenris," he growls.

I sidestep, putting more distance between us. The wolf moves with me, still blocking Caine’s path.

"I’m staying with Lyre," I tell him. My voice doesn’t waver. "You don’t have any right to detain me."

"I told you, I’m not—"

"You locked me in a room," I remind him. "You had guards posted outside my door. You brought me food, but wouldn’t let me leave. That’s the definition of imprisonment, and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal." My confidence wanes the longer I talk, though, under the weight of his stormy stare.

Caine growls again, louder than before. It vibrates through the air, shaking my bones. His hands clench at his sides, and I brace for an explosion of temper. The camper’s basically a tin can; if he wants to attack us, we have nowhere to hide. Running from wolves is pointless; it just delays the inevitable.

"So you’re really not coming back?" Jack-Eye smoothly interrupts, stepping forward with his head tilted in curiosity.

His calmer approach helps temper the anxiety bouncing in my stomach, so I address him directly. "No, I’m not. I was kidnapped and locked in a room for no reason I can understand. I value my life—and my freedom—too much to voluntarily return to that situation." There. I sound rational. Composed, and logical. They can’t argue with the facts.

Jack-Eye nods thoughtfully. Behind him, Caine continues making a low rumbling sound, like distant thunder.

"Fair enough," Jack-Eye says.

He’s surprisingly reasonable, which puts me on guard.

The beta slings an arm around Caine’s shoulders, the casual gesture at odds with the tension radiating from his king. "So what’s your plan then, ladies? Heading somewhere specific?"

I hesitate, glancing at Lyre. Telling them where we’re going seems like a terrible idea, but they don’t seem like they’re just going to let us go.

"We’ll be staying here for a while," the rainbow-haired woman says with a nonchalant shrug. Her eyes flick meaningfully toward Caine and Jack-Eye as she continues, "Seems like we have some bugs who aren’t quite ready to leave yet."

Caine’s rumbling grows louder. "Grace can’t—"

"Actually, she can," Lyre interrupts, sounding bored. "I’ve paid for this spot through the weekend, and I don’t plan to waste my money."

Jack-Eye’s lips twitch as he inspects her, but eventually he smacks Caine on the back with casual familiarity. "Come on, High Alpha. Let’s give the ladies some space to think."

"I’m not leaving her here," Caine hisses, shaking off Jack-Eye’s arm. While his words are softer than before, leading me to believe he’s not trying to be heard, he isn’t that quiet. Every syllable is clear.

Fenris lets out an elongated, up-and-down kind of whine, turning his head to look at Caine. The king glowers back.

"Fine," Caine finally snaps. "But we’re staying too."

"No, you’re not." Lyre’s denial is swift and firm.

Fenris makes another huffing sound and nudges Caine with his massive shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance; Jack-Eye coughs behind his fist, but by the way his lips keep quirking, I’m pretty sure it’s to hide laughter.

Must be nice to find this situation so amusing. I’m shaking with my own audacity and worried Caine’s going to snap and go for Lyre’s neck, but the beta’s over here snickering.

"We’ll be back in the morning," Jack-Eye says after a few seconds, and Caine’s head snaps in his direction.

"Bring breakfast if you’re going to intrude. Bacon, not sausage. I like my eggs over easy, but Grace likes them scrambled."

The beta looks right at Lyre and laughs, seemingly unbothered by her flat stare and monotone demand. "Bacon, not sausage. Got it."

"White toast only," she adds, not a hint of emotion crossing her face. "If you get me wheat toast, I’ll put my fork right through your tenders. And coffee. Black for me, cream and sugar for Grace."

Her remembering my coffee preferences isn’t even something I blink at anymore; Lyre seems to remember everything the first time it’s mentioned. Sometimes even things I don’t remember telling her. Of course, it’s only been a few days; it doesn’t take a lot of brain power to remember basic preferences.

But I don’t recall us ever eating eggs together.

"Consider it done." Jack-Eye gives a mock salute, then jabs his elbow sharply into Caine’s ribs, without any deference to their difference in status.

His alpha doesn’t flinch at the impact, but his gray eyes narrow into dangerous slits. The two men lock gazes in some silent battle of wills—Caine’s expression darkening with each passing second while Jack-Eye’s remains irritatingly pleasant.

It’s enough to make me wonder if I’ve been wrong about the Lycan King this entire time. If you’d asked me a few days ago, I would have said Caine would kill anyone for even daring the slightest inch of insolence in his presence. Yet he allows his beta to argue with him, smack his back, and even dig his elbow into his side?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, and Fenris presses closer. Maybe he thinks I’m cold. The breeze has kicked up, blowing my hair into my face.

Finally, Caine exhales a loud, deliberate sigh, though it sounds more like another growl. "Fine."

He stalks toward me, stopping barely a foot away. The breeze carries his scent my way, and I wonder what his cologne scent would be called. Something like Full Eclipse, maybe. Or Wildfire.

My body betrays me with a small shiver as I breathe it in.

"I’ll see you in the morning," he says stiffly, and his words sound like a command more than a promise.

Irritated with my body, and him, and his stupid cologne smell and why does he look so good when he’s a freaking murderer, I mutter, "You really don’t need to come back."

Oops.

His jaw tightens.

Oh, well. I’ve already said it, so I put every ounce of sincerity I possess into my voice as I add, "Really. Truly. You don’t."

His scowl sends a chill down my back. "I’ll be back."

Why does it sound like a freaking threat? It’s just three words, but they land like stones, heavy with certainty.

"Eight o’clock," Lyre calls out from behind me. "Any earlier and we won’t be decent."