Page 93 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"Grace," he says, my name sounding so soft and delicate when it comes out of his mouth.
The calloused pad of his thumb skims my skin with such delicacy it might as well be a whisper. My eyelids flutter against my will as his touch travels to a strand of my newly blonde hair.
He tucks it behind my ear, his fingertips lingering at the sensitive skin just below my earlobe.
Lyre clears her throat, and I jump, the strange, overly sexual connection between us fizzling. Shoving Caine's hand away, I blink a few times to clear my vision.
But he still looks all soft and gentle and not murderous, which is just… not right.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, doing my best to sound like his presence is unwanted. Which it is. Definitely. Even if my body doesn't seem to have gotten the memo, despite being markedurgent.
"You left," he repeats, as if it explains everything.
It doesn't.
The black dog—no, wolf—peeks around Caine again with a soft whine, his gray eyes familiar.
Fenris.
The recognition is instantaneous without attraction hazing my thought process, and I have to suppress a hysterical laugh. The massive, otherworldly wolf has somehow been reduced to what looks like an all-black German Shepherd.
Lyre clears her throat again from where she's leaning against the wall. "So, this is who you're running from."
Caine doesn't even glance in her direction, his attention fixed entirely on me. "Are you hurt?" His eyes dart to my wrist, which hasn't been wrapped since my first night with Lyre.
"What? No. I'm fine." My brain scrambles to make sense of his presence, of his demeanor, of the fact he's kneeling before me in this tiny camper with an expression I can't decipher. Intrusive thoughts about us being naked—together—try to horn in, but I shove them away without remorse.
Is there medicine to fix my imagination? I'm in desperate need of a lifetime supply of it.
"Why are you here? How did you find me?"
His jaw tightens slightly. "You left without telling me where you were going."
I nod. "Yes, I know."
His eyes tighten. His entire face tenses, the now-familiar Lycan King mask returning to place, hard and cold. "I'm here to bring you back."
"No, thank you." Heat rises to my face as I struggle to remain composed. Thankfully, all the inappropriate thoughts have flown off with my rising irritation. "I'm not your prisoner."
"We discussed this."
"Youdiscussed it. I disagree with the facts."
His jaw tightens, the muscle there flexing beneath his skin. He looks different somehow. More dangerous, yet also more human. His dark hair is mussed, as if he's been running his hands through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn't been sleeping well.
"Who is she?" He jerks his chin toward Lyre without looking at her.
"Lyre." She answers before I can, her voice light but edged. "And you're in my home without an invitation."
Caine still doesn't turn. "You took what belongs to me."
I frown. "I don't belong to anyone."
His nostrils flare. "Why do you smell like coconuts?"
Chapter forty-nine
Grace: Did You Kill Andrew?
