Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 53: Caine: You Can’t Camp Here

CAINE

The Lyre girl’s scent is strange, but I can’t figure it out. Jack-Eye, the idiot, doesn’t seem to mind; then again, he was always partial to women. A little too friendly, a little too willing. Far more gregarious than the typical Lycan.

I glower at Lyre’s camper, fingers digging into the cheap plastic armrests of Andrew’s folding chair. Something about that woman sets my teeth on edge. The rainbow-haired enigma kicked us out the second breakfast was over—for them. She didn’t bat an eye at our half-full plates or still-steaming coffee mugs.

Who does that to the Lycan King? More importantly, who does that to any Lycan without flinching? It’s strange.

Fenris lifts his head; he’s been moping for the past ten minutes, since he was thrown out with us. He didn’t want to leave, but Grace stared at me with her pretty grass-green eyes until I picked him up and took him with me.

My wolf is not happy with me.

She smells wrong, he mutters, apparently willing to converse when we’re talking about a mutual enemy.

"I know."

No, you don’t understand. I can’t place it. Her scent is... slippery.

The hair on my neck stands up. In over two centuries, I’ve never known Fenris to be unable to categorize a scent, but what he’s saying makes sense. I’ve noticed it, too. It’s more than not knowing what she smells like; it’s as if something’s purposely not allowing us to.

"She’s hiding something," I say, watching the camper windows for movement. No hint of shadows. What’s Grace doing? Washing dishes? Maybe she’s curled up in bed, kicking her pale legs in the air as she reads a book. "No one takes in a stranger out of kindness. Not in this world."

She kicked me out, too. After I worked hard to keep Grace company all night.

I raise an eyebrow. "Sleeping arrangements go poorly?"

Grace doesn’t like sharing her bed. Made me sleep on the floor.

My mind floods with an image of Grace in bed—her now-golden hair splayed across a pillow, sheets twisted around her legs, and a stubborn little pout on her lips as she claims the entire mattress. "I’ll just make her like it."

Fenris’s ears perk up, his massive head swinging toward me. What was that? Are you finally accepting what I’ve been telling you?

The realization of what I said hits me like a brick. I drag a hand down my face with a groan. "No. Stop putting ideas in my head. I’m trying to deal with something important."

Sounded like you were thinking about sharing a bed with Grace.

"I don’t trust Lyre," I growl, steering the conversation back. "She’s too comfortable ordering Lycans around. I even let some dominance slip this morning, and she didn’t so much as twitch." Of course, I only let out the tiniest sliver. Didn’t want to upset Grace. She seems perturbed by my presence as it is.

She’s not afraid of us.

"Exactly." I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "And what does she want with Grace? A human girl with no apparent value? No money, no connections—"

Other than you.

"—and no..." My mind catches on Fenris’s interjection. "What do you mean?"

Perhaps Lyre knows something we don’t. About Grace. About you. About us.

A chill runs through me. I’d considered obvious angles: ransom and simple human trafficking. But could it be? Is Grace somehow different...?

Of course she’s different. She’s our mate.

I bare my teeth at Fenris, though it’s half-hearted. I’m on edge and rattled, and I blame not being able to touch her. Grace had avoided any physical contact like I was some sort of bug. And Lyre seemed to purposely get between us. It’s enough to make my head throb out of frustration.

Footsteps approach from behind, and I catch the scent of Jack-Eye mingled with an unfamiliar human male. Sweat, cheap detergent, and the sour stink of fear. Yes. This is the normal response to our presence. But why did Jack-Eye bring him here? Wasn’t he supposed to see what the local store had available for amenities? We don’t have enough sleeping bags for all four of us, and walking to the water fountain every time we’re thirsty is already getting old.

Driving to a store with such things in stock is the obvious solution, but I didn’t want to leave Grace.

"Um, excuse me, gentlemen," the man says. He’s wearing a dirty white t-shirt with a handkerchief knotted around his neck. The campground logo is emblazoned across his chest. "I’m real sorry, but you can’t pitch a tent on an RV spot."

I tilt my head and stare at him, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. He shifts under the weight of my attention. "Then you’ll need to make an exception."

The man’s pulse hammers in his neck. I can hear it from here. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. "Sir, I can’t—we have rules. You can’t tent camp on an RV site. We have other areas for—"

"I said," I repeat slowly, "you’ll need to make an exception."

Jack-Eye steps forward, physically blocking my line of sight to the trembling human. "It’s fine, Bob. I can call you Bob, right?"

"Actually, my name is Mike—"

"Don’t worry about it, Bob. We’ll pack up and move along. No trouble. Right, Caine?"

Bob wrings his hands. "I appreciate that. If you need a tent site, I can direct you—"

"We’re fine right here," I interject.

Jack-Eye throws me a warning look over his shoulder, and I frown. Why is he backing down in front of a measly human? Andrew and Thom are even crowding around to watch this pathetic situation.

Imagine if the local wolf pack appeared and saw the Lycan King bowing down to some arbitrary human rule.

My face settles into a heavy, impassive mask. The authority of my throne cannot be undermined. I’ll have to—

"I’m sorry," the man stutters, finding some reserve of courage. Probably because Jack-Eye is blocking most of me. "If you don’t relocate, it’s trespassing. I’ll have to call the police."

I growl, and he startles.