Page 70 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"Killed Brax." The words emerge flat and factual. "I know. I was there."
"Then you know what he's capable of!" Andrew leans closer. "And he's fixated on you. If you disappear now—"
"That's exactly why I need to disappear. You being here isn't going to help me. It isn't likeyoucan win against him."
He flinches.
I press my palms against the cool table. "I'm out now. I'm going to live my life onmyterms. You aren't a part of my life. Neither is Rafe. You should go back to the pack. You belong there, don't you?"
Andrew's jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. "That's not fair, Grace."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Was it fair when Rafe abandoned me during the Mate Hunt? Was it fair when Alpha threw me to the omegas? Was it fair when Ellie tormented me every chance she got?
"I'm done with fair. I'm done with all of it. You've been kinder than most, but you're still theirs. Not mine."
Andrew's face falls. "I thought we were friends, Grace."
Chapter thirty-six
Grace: Eight Hundred Miles
Lyre shifts in her seat, her slitted eyes observing our exchange with quiet interest. She doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to persuade either of us. Her neutrality is refreshing after years of wolves who thought they knew what was best for me. Though I wonder what she's thinking about behind her impassive face. We must sound crazy.
Andrew rubs his hand across his face, losing some of his aggressive denial. Instead, he's pleading. "You have no idea how dangerous this is. You're human, Grace."
I look to Lyre. "How far is Yellowstone from here?"
"About eight hundred miles," she says calmly, like we're discussing the weather or something.
Eight hundred miles. Eight hundred miles between me and the Blue Mountain Pack. Between me and Rafe and Ellie. Between me and the murderous Lycan King.
"You can't outrun them," Andrew insists. "Especially not the Lycan King. If he wants you—"
I roll my eyes. "Andrew, you brought me here under the assumption wecouldoutrun him. Now you're changing your story because I'm not going to do what you want. You can't have it both ways."
"But—"
"He doesn't care about me. Trust me." The memory of Caine's gray eyes flashes through my mind—the intensity of his gaze as he wrapped the bandage around my wrist. But I push it away.
"You're wrong. He—" Andrew stops himself, huffing something between a sigh and a groan.
"He…?"
Grimacing, Andrew shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're making a mistake. This woman—" he gestures at Lyre, "—you don't know her. You don't know what she is."
Lyre's lips quirk at that. "He's not wrong about that."
I glance between them. Andrew's obvious mistrust, Lyre's casual acknowledgment.
"Are you something other than human?" I ask her directly.
She tilts her head, catlike. "Does it matter?"
The question gives me pause. Does it? After everything I've been through with wolves, should I fear other supernatural beings just the same?
But then I think of my life at the pack—the constant reminders of my humanity, my weakness, my otherness.
"No," I decide. "It doesn't matter. As long as you're not planning to hurt me."
