Page 77 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"I'm doing what I need to do," he says stubbornly, staring over my head instead of looking at my angry face.
Arguing with him is pointless.
Shouldering past, I try not to stomp too hard as I head back to the counter, where my order's waiting. Lyre's nowhere in sight, but shedidsay it would be almost a half-hour before she was done.
I should have waited before ordering.
I grab the tray with our food and head to the table furthest away from any strangers. Another thing I've learned over the past two days—humans like to talk.
I've had some really fascinating conversations while standing in line. These aren't bad experiences, but he's soured my mood, and I have no interest in looking at anyone's face today.
Except Lyre's, of course.
Andrew pulls out the chair at the table directly next to mine, and my mood plummets further.
A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. I've lived with wolves long enough to know what this is—territory marking. He's making sure everyone knows I'm under his protection, whichwould be sweet if I actually wanted it. It's also stupid, because humans don't do this kind of thing.
"You're ruining my appetite." I slide Lyre's burger to the empty spot across from me, pushing the remaining one toward me and leaving the fries centered. My stomach growls despite my annoyance.
He rests his arms on the table, his eyes never leaving my face. He has no food, and I wonder how he's been surviving without buying anything to eat or drink.
"Just pretend I'm air," he says, sounding serious and not at all joking.
My words are a soft whisper, but I know he can hear every word: "Air doesn't scowl like you do."
I pick at a few fries. They're crisp and well-salted, but my appetite's run off since him trying to stare holes into my face. The ketchup packet remains unopened in my hand as I wait for Lyre to appear. I check the time on the wall clock—she should be done soon.
My gaze drifts to the window, where I'm surprised to see a white cat watching my every move.
It's sitting on the sidewalk just feet away from my window, and it's huge. Not big enough to be confused with a tiger or something, but large enough the wordhousecatseems… wrong. Maybe it's one of those wild hybrid cats.
Its posture is unnaturally still, and its eyes—bright blue—are fixed directly on me.
"I think someone's lost their cat," I murmur, more to myself than to Andrew.
"What cat?"
I want to be irritated by his question, but I'm the one who spoke out loud. He probably thinks I'm holding a conversation.
Sighing, I point toward the window. "That one. The white one sitting right there." The animal hasn't moved an inch, its tail curled neatly around its paws. It's almost statue-like.
He follows my finger, his brow furrowing as he peers through the glass. He stares for a long moment, then turns back to me with a blank expression.
"I don't see anything."
A chill runs down my spine. "What do you mean? It's right there. The huge white cat staring at us."
His eyes narrow as he looks again. "There's nothing there, Grace."
I lean forward, pressing my palms against the table as I focus on the creature. It's impossible to miss—it must weigh thirty pounds at least, with a coat so white it almost hurts to look at.
"How can you not see it? It's massive." I gesture more emphatically. "Right there. White cat, blue eyes, staring straight at me."
Andrew's face changes, concern replacing irritation. "There's no cat, Grace."
Chapter forty
Caine: Tracking (I)
