Page 107 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"Grace is inside. Don't you want to check on her?"
Is Lyre talking to Caine? Or is she talking to Rafe? And if it is Rafe, where is he? I didn't see him out there.
Screw it. I peek around the doorway again, only to verify Lyre is talking to Caine—whose eyes meet mine almost immediately.
He shoves Lyre aside without ceremony, storming forward. His weight on the stairs sways the RV. When he ducks through the doorway to come inside, my mouth goes dry.
The door slams shut behind him; he didn't do it. Lyre, I guess.
Now I'm alone with him. So much for being on my side. First Fenris, now Lyre, both abandoning me in my time of need.
Caine's presence has always been overwhelming, but now he looks positively feral. Veins stand out against his neck. His eyes have darkened to storm clouds, and his jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear his teeth grinding together. Even his breathing is loud, heavy and rough.
Every inch of him radiates barely contained violence.
He stalks toward me, and I flinch back instinctively.
"Um, hi?" The word's more of a squeak anything else, but he doesn't respond, much less blink.
His legs eat up the distance between us in long strides as I retreat, hands behind me feeling for obstacles. The small space of the camper suddenly feels like a trap. My lower back hits something solid—the entertainment center—and panic flutters in my chest.
Nowhere to run.
Before I can dodge sideways, Caine's hands shoot out. He yanks me against him with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. One arm bands around my waist like steel while the other hand cradles the back of my head, yanking it to the side as he buries his face into the crook of my neck.
His breath scorches my skin as he inhales deeply, over and over, his chest expanding against mine with each desperate breath.
My arms hover awkwardly in the air, fingers spread like starfish. I have no idea what to do with my hands. Pat his back? Push him away? Both options seem equally dangerous.
Once again, I'm reminded of a simple fact. The Lycan King is unhinged.
The tip of his nose traces a line up to the sensitive spot behind my ear, and I can't suppress a shiver. His grip tightens even further, crushing me against the hard plane of his chest.
"I'm breathing fine," I get out, my voice higher than normal. "But if you keep squeezing me like this, I won't be for long."
Something strange happens then. The rigid tension in his body relaxes. Not completely, but enough to ease the crushing pressure of his embrace. The arm around my waist loosens slightly. The hand at the back of my head becomes less demanding, more cradling. His breathing, which had been ragged and harsh, gradually slows to match mine.
Cautiously, I let my hands settle on his shoulders. His muscles feel like granite beneath my palms, but even as I touch him, they soften.
"Are you okay?"
Caine makes a sound deep in his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. His lips brush against my pulse point when he speaks. "No."
Oh.
"It isn't enough," he adds, but his words don't match his actions as he takes a step back, letting me go.
"What isn't—ah!"
The sound bursts from my throat—a half scream, half gasp—as the fabric of my shirt gives way without resistance. Yeah, Caine let me go. But then he'd lifted his hand to my collar, and…
Well, there goes Lyre's band shirt.
I glance down in shock, my mind struggling to process what just happened. Air brushes against my skin, leaving goosebumps. Three clean slices run from my collar all the way down to the hem. Not torn by hands, but by—
Claws.
The shredded fabric hangs limply from my shoulders, revealing a plain beige bra and my bare stomach. "What are you—?"
