Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 87: Lyre: Embraced (?)

LYRE

There’s a special joy that comes from watching someone who once stood tall crumble into terrified submission. Owen—all six-foot-something of Order-aligned angelic muscle—keeps flinching whenever I so much as breathe in his direction. It’s adorable, really.

He’s young. Strangely young. Maybe mid-twenties at best. Seems odd, considering his bloodline, but I’m not about to ask. Knowing means involving, and involving means work.

No, thank you.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out while maintaining eye contact with Owen, just to watch him swallow nervously. Poor thing. I’d only turned him into a toad for a few seconds. Just enough to make sure he didn’t run away.

Didn’t think it would bother him this much, but it is a delightful bonus.

The text on my screen makes me roll my eyes.

[CAINE: Why aren’t you answering your phone? This is just an empty building. Where are you??]

The digital equivalent of a wolf’s howl.

Sighing, I turn to Owen. "Do they need a key?"

He nods stiffly. "Yes."

"Better go let them in before His Royal Broodiness tears this place apart with his bare hands."

"This isn’t—" He stops himself and blows out a heavy breath. "Okay."

Jack-Eye straightens. "I’ll go with you."

Of course he will. Any excuse to get away from the big bad witch who turned his new friend into an amphibian. Wolves are so predictable. So boring. Take away their agency once and they lose their ability to function.

Owen hesitates, looking from me to Grace and back again.

"Don’t worry," I tell him with my sweetest smile. "We’re best friends. Right, Grace?"

The angel-descendant looks at Grace, his silver eyes troubled. "Will you be—"

"I’m fine," Grace interrupts, her cheeks flushing pink as she looks at me. "We’re friends."

I press a hand to my chest, mock-offended. "Just a friend? After everything we’ve been through? I’m wounded."

Grace’s face crumples with genuine concern, her green eyes widening as she reaches toward me. "Oh no, I didn’t mean—I just—best friends! We’re best friends!"

I chuckle. "Breathe, blueberry. I’m just messing with you." I wave my hand dismissively. "You’re wound too tight. Relax!"

Grace’s shoulders visibly relax, tension melting away as she exhales a long breath. "That wasn’t funny," she mumbles, but there’s no heat behind her words. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her best efforts.

She’s so cute. A sweet little bundle of innocence, wrapped in a world determined to grow her into a fate too large for her dainty shoulders.

I can see the threads of her fate, and they’re beautiful.

But surrounded by so much pain.

The best fates usually are. The Divinity call it balance, but I’ve never agreed.

Jack-Eye follows a hesitant Owen toward the exit, and I can’t help but twirl my finger in the beta’s direction. "Ribbit, ribbit."

He actually snarls at me before following Owen out. At least he has some spice to his fear. Doesn’t like being poked at, does he? Maybe he’ll be more fun than I realized.

When they’re gone, Grace collapses onto one of the cushions scattered across the floor, her eyes wide. "You turned him into a toad?"

"Just for a second," I tell her with an easy smile. "I wanted to talk to him, and it’s the easiest way to get a point across."

"Is that why Jack-Eye is afraid of you too?"

I shrug. "Jack-Eye just has good instincts. Unlike your mate, who bulldozes through life with all the subtlety of a freight train."

Grace’s face does that endearing pink thing again. "He’s not my—"

"Grace," I interrupt, sitting beside her, "we’re well past that particular denial, don’t you think?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it, hands fidgeting in her lap. Her nervous energy fills the space between us—anticipation and anxiety in equal measure. It’s sweet.

"Is Caine really upset?" she asks quietly.

"He’s been tearing the city apart looking for you." I pat her knee. "In his own charming, homicidal way."

A soft smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and I marvel at how someone so genuinely good could end up bound to a creature like Caine. The universe has a twisted sense of humor.

"I should warn you," I add, "he might be a bit... intense when he sees you."

Her smile falters. "Intense how?"

"The ’I’m going to smother you with my overprotective wolf-king energy until you can’t breathe’ kind of intense. After what happened last time—" I pause, watching comprehension dawn in her eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. So maybe avoid physical contact until we’re sure you’ve recovered. I’d hate to have to explain to the hospital staff why you’re back in a coma." Though, I’m sure Caine will never let her out of his sight again.

Which is going to be a problem.

Before she can respond, a commotion echoes from the hallway—heavy footsteps and voices, one deep and rumbling with barely contained emotion.

Caine.

Grace sits up straighter, unconsciously smoothing her hair. It’s so painfully obvious how she feels, and I can’t help but sigh. All that beauty, tied to an emotional brick wall with anger issues.

Seven hundred years, and I still don’t understand the mating bond’s peculiar sense of matchmaking. Though, Grace has her own ability to emulate an emotional rock, so I suppose they are quite the pair.

The footsteps grow louder, and then he’s there—the Lycan King himself, filling the doorway with his massive frame, eyes locked on Grace like she’s the only thing in the universe.

Mate bonds.

Most people find them romantic. I find them cloying, contrived, and annoying.

The raw emotion on his face makes my face scrunch up. There’s something compelling about witnessing such naked vulnerability from someone who works so hard to appear invulnerable—on television.

In person? Blech. I know it comes with a whole side of overbearing and obnoxious.

Grace rises to her feet, swaying slightly.

"Grace," he breathes, like she’s Divinity and he’s her supplicant.

And then he’s moving toward her with single-minded focus, arms already reaching.

Right on cue.

I lunge between them, throwing my body into Caine’s path just as he’s about to embrace her. His arms close around me instead, and for one horrifying second, I’m trapped in the Lycan King’s bear hug.

We both freeze.

His face—millimeters from mine—contorts with shock and revulsion. I’m pretty sure my expression mirrors his.

"What. The. FUCK." His voice is a strangled growl as he releases me with such force I nearly stumble.

I smooth down my shirt, suppressing a shudder. "Unless you want to send her back to the hospital, keep your paws to yourself."

Caine steps back like I’ve slapped him, his eyes darting to Grace. "Are you still...?"

Grace, the traitor, is laughing—actually laughing—tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Your faces," she manages between giggles. "I wish I had a camera."

"This isn’t funny," Caine growls, but the way his eyes linger on her laughter suggests he doesn’t entirely mean it.

"I don’t know," she says, wiping at her eyes. "It was pretty funny."

His expression softens, just for a moment, before hardening again as his attention shifts back to me. "Touch me again and I’ll—"

"You’ll what?" I cut in, baring my teeth in a smile that’s just a little too sharp. "Please, finish that sentence. I’m dying to hear what you think you could do to me."