Page 102 of Grace of a Wolf 1
Then my shoulders tense as I realize I'm already taking this situation for granted, like it's our new normal. How scary.
As they continue their French toast versus pancake debate (apparently this is a hill Jack-Eye is willing to die on), Caine pulls out the chair across from me. He's been staring at me without blinking, but I've been trying to ignore his presence.
He sits with the casual, confident air of someone who owns every space they enter. The table between us feels both too small and impossibly wide, and a teeny, tiny, traitorous part of me is upset he's sitting across from me instead of beside me.
No. Scratch that thought. Wipe it from record.
I should grab a plate and join the others in the kitchen. Maybe food will keep my brain working properly and out of Caine's pants.
From my peripheral vision, I see him reach into his jacket. My muscles tense instinctively. What's he pulling out? A weapon? A contract for me to sign in blood? Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be—
He places a small paper bag on the table between us and pushes it across to me.
"For you," he says, without any inflection at all. Seriously, the man's about as warm and welcoming as the Arctic.
Still, my heart does a traitorous little flutter in my chest. The paper bag is plain and unassuming, but he still bought me something.
Then again, it could have a bomb inside. Unlikely, but we're talking about a mass murderer, here. One can never predict what's going through their heads.
I reach for it cautiously, half expecting it to explode. But the bag crinkles normally in my hand, and when I open it, I just stare in confusion.
A single blueberry muffin sits inside. Not bakery-fresh, from the looks of it—probably from a gas station or convenience store.Its top is dotted with sugar crystals, a few sad blueberries visible beneath the golden-brown surface.
"Thank you?" My voice lilts it into a question. I'm holding the muffin now, the wrapper crinkling between my fingers.
"I thought you'd like one."
My mind races back to our conversation at the Blue Mountain Pack after Alpha died. When Caine was questioning me about my relationship with Rafe and brought me breakfast. When he said...
"You hate blueberry muffins," I blurt out.
His steel-gray eyes don't leave mine. "I'm reconsidering my opinion."
He bought this specifically for me. Not because he likes them, but because...
Oh. He's probably trying to placate me before dragging me back.
Now it makes sense.
Chapter fifty-three
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. Shedidn'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."
