Page 86 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"Fine." I shift my position on the daybed, careful to keep my bare chest pressed against the sheets. "Just missed some parts of the show."
My shoulders roll back instinctively, and I notice something different. The burning sensation crawling across my back is fading, now less like thousands of hot, stabbing needles and more like an overly warm heating pad. The relief makes me sigh out loud.
"Hey, is it okay if I put my shirt back on yet?" I ask, already reaching toward the folded t-shirt beside me. The evening air is cool against my exposed skin, and despite Lyre's casual attitude, I'm not entirely comfortable being half-naked in front of someone I've known for less than a week.
Lyre finally looks up from her phone, her gaze assessing as she studies my back. "Give it another ten minutes."
She pauses, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. Her lips move silently, and it takes me a second to realize she's... counting? Her fingers twitch slightly with each unspoken number. The gestureseems oddly methodical for something as simple as how long cream should stay on skin.
Eventually, she grunts and nods. "Yeah, ten minutes is probably still safe."
Safe?That's an interesting word choice for skin cream.
"Am I going to get cancer or something if I leave this on too long?" I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice. The burning had been intense, almost unnatural. What kind of healing ointment causes that much pain?
Lyre's attention returns to her phone, thumb scrolling with practiced ease. "The ointment isn't what I'm worried about," she says absently.
I push myself up on my elbows again, twisting to look at her. "What does that mean?" My heartbeat quickens. "If not the ointment, then what?"
She doesn't answer immediately, which only amplifies my unease. The hairs on my arms stand up. "Lyre?"
"Someone's been following us," she finally says, still scrolling. "Not Andrew. Well, yes Andrew, but someone else too."
My breath catches. "Wolves?"
Her finger pauses.
I scramble upright, snatching a pillow to cover my chest. "Lyre, did they find me? You know something, don't you?"
Lyre sighs and sets her phone on her belly as she closes her eyes. "Don't worry so much."
"Don't worry?" My voice cracks as it reaches a new pitch. "You just told me someone's following me, and now you're saying don't worry?" The pillow slips in my grip, and I clutch it tighter against my chest. "That's not helping me worry less."
She keeps her eyes closed, considering this for a moment. The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the murmur of the TV show I've completely forgotten about. Finally, she nods. "Fair assessment. I'm not helping."
She turns her head to look at me, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the camper like a cat's. "Tell me. Do you believe in fate, Grace?
Chapter forty-five
Grace: Knock, Knock
The question catches me off guard, a sharp left turn from my panic about being hunted.
"Fate?" I hesitate, my fingers digging into the soft pillow. "What do you mean by fate?"
"Fate." She rolls the word around like she's tasting it. "When you're destined for something. No matter what you do, you can't escape it. Your path is already written."
My throat tightens. Once, I thought Rafe was my soul mate. I thought our lives would intertwine forever, that nothingcould separate us. Then fate arrived wearing Ellie's face, and everything changed. The memory of his cold eyes as he chose her still burns in my chest.
"Fate took Rafe from me," I whisper, more to myself than to Lyre. "His fated mate appeared, and suddenly nothing else mattered. Not our years together, not our plans. All my happiness was taken away, and all I was left with was pain." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
My newly blonde hair falls over the pillow like a golden waterfall, and I grab a few strands between my fingers. "Fate makes me sound helpless. Like I'm just going wherever I'm pushed." My jaw sets with determination. "I'd rather fight to be happy than sit around accepting whatever I've been given. That's why I'm here."
Lyre's lips curl into a knowing smile. The expression transforms her face, softening her sharp features. "Fate would never destine you for unhappiness, Grace."
A bitter laugh escapes me, surprising in its harshness. Orphaned, abandoned, rejected… It doesn't seem like fate has anything good in store for me. "I'm not so sure about that."
"I know," Lyre says simply, before settling back on the couch and closing her eyes again. "Don't worry, Grace. What will be, will be. And what you don't want will never be."
